


We Are Next

by affiliation



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mystery, Post-Time Skip, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affiliation/pseuds/affiliation
Summary: A group of friends take a reunion trip to a secluded mountainous region. There, Tsukishima and Yachi resolve their fragile relationship. Kageyama and Hinata challenge their feelings for each other, whilst Daichi and Michimiya reinforce their existing bond. Meanwhile, Kuroo attempts to unravel the complexity around a woman and her traumatic past. But when a series of unsettling events transpire, things take a sinister turn.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Kuroo Tetsurou/Original Female Character(s), Michimiya Yui/Sawamura Daichi, Tsukishima Kei/Yachi Hitoka
Comments: 24
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Adult themes, strong sexual references, strong horror, supernatural themes, moderate violence, strong coarse languages
> 
> I do not own any Haikyuu characters.

_Winter 1962_

“Quick, get to the window,” he breathes.

Her hands reach for the latch and she pushes anti-clockwise. It stalls halfway.

“It won’t open!” She cries.

The footsteps intensify, followed by a blood curdling screech that sends a paralysing chill through their veins.

With both hands pressed to the edges, she gives another upwards push.

“It won’t open, it won’t open, it won’t open.”

The sounds of her echos reverberate grotesquely across the four walls of this prison-like room.

He is by her side, and together they manipulate with two adult strength. The latch rattles. It sways back and forth like a metronomic device.

“It’s resisting.”

Her tone is frantic, suffused with fragments of paranoia.

There is a loud cracking sound that originates from behind. The door knob twists in rapid-like successions, but does not relent to opening.

Silence.

“Are you going to let us in?”

The voice is small and gentle, yet drenched in a darkened void of spitefulness.

She hesitates.

“Don’t listen to them! Keep going, don’t stop,” he yells.

Her trance breaks and she is back to reality.

The hinge snaps and the window opens.

“Quick, get out, now!”

He lifts her small body and shoves her through the window. In the next two seconds, he falls beside her onto the soft snow.

Past the second floor window and amongst frames of splintered wood, there is a fractured element of despair that radiates between three young children. Impassive, blank and devoid of humanity, they gaze steadily through the panes of shattered glass.

Behind them is the shadowy figure that puppeteers from the darkness. It holds the children stagnant in a frozen-like sphere of intensifying hatred.

“My babies…” Her voice shakes with incessant despondency, "we should have never come here.”


	2. Reunion

_Winter 2018_

It is January twenty-sixth and the city darkens amidst a sheath of heavy downpour. Winter settles in a state of frigid unease that severely contradicts the raging warmth of their reunion. It is the first time in months since his return. They congregate by the pub’s interior and contemplate old memories in the security of each other’s company.

“You know, we need to do this more often,” Hinata says, “I get out more in Brazil amongst strangers than I do here amongst friends.”

“Yeah, well good for you,” Kageyama says.

He sends a disapproving look in Hinata’s direction, as if the comment offended him.

“Good call, Hinata. I don’t think we’ve had a proper reunion like this since you jetted off years ago,” Daichi pauses, “maybe we need a bigger get together. You know, just us?”

There is a quietude that runs the length of their surrounding. Perhaps more out of inquisitiveness than bafflement.

“Like camping?” Hinata says eagerly, “all of us together camping-”

“Ugh, yeah no,” Tsukishima interrupts, “not happening.”

Daichi gestures airily before he speaks.

“That’s not what I mean. Camping is a bit too much. Maybe just a week’s get together somewhere. I’m just putting a suggestion out there. I know we’re all busy with work, volleyball and college, but it's taken us months since Hinata got back to even have a reunion like this. So the idea just came by and I thought, why not?”

Over in the corner, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi exchange significant glances.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Sugawara agrees, “it doesn't have to be anything fancy. It would be nice to see everyone together again, even just for a week or weekend’s vacation.”

There is a dense ball of enthusiasm that infiltrates, and though the origin resides with Hinata, the entire atmosphere is saturated in its aura. Volleyball may be at the forefront of his mind, but on a spectrum of priorities, his friends take first place.

“I’d like to spend time with everyone again. We could all play volleyball together, just like old times.”

His tone is doused in contentment. Perhaps volleyball is the underlying justification that rouses his enthusiasm, but a significant part of him is hyping for a Karasuno reunion.

“Kageyama?” Daichi says.

It may be the tenth drink, or perhaps the repercussion of sleep deprivation, but Kageyama is watching Hinata with an unusual expression.

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts.

Then he takes a long swig of beer and retracts into his own reverie.

They turn to Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, who are both watching Kageyama with rising interest.

“Tsukki? Are you interested?” Yamaguchi queries.

“Not particularly,” he answers.

In response, Hinata lets out a disgruntled scoff.

“Tsukishima, can you at least be agreeable for once? It would be nice if-“

“I never said I wouldn’t go. I just said I’m not particularly interested,” Tsukishima interposes.

The change in Hinata’s demeanour is instantaneous. Perhaps time away from Tsukishima evoked a multitude of distorted memories? He remembers the unpleasantness, yet forgets the agreeability that underlies Tsukishima’s obnoxious attitude.

With passive consent, Yamaguchi concurs with the proposed trip.

“Just to let you know, Ennoshita, Narita and Kinoshita have other commitments, so they won’t be able to make it,” Sugawara says.

“I’m guessing Azumane and Nishinoya are still on their world trip?” Hinata replies.

He senses the impending misery, as if a part of him is grieving for something that is non-existent.

“We can still have fun without them,” Daichi says, “besides, they’re off having a great time so I think it’s fair we get to have our own fun too.”

“What about Tanaka and Shimizu?”

His tone signifies a heightened level of hope, but beneath its layer, the instinct manifests in the form of disappointment. And when Daichi confirms that Tanaka and Shimizu are visiting family, the compounding sadness sits heavy.

Hinata perfects composure with flawless ease. To the external world, they see his appreciation for the present situation, but internally, he is thoroughly disheartened.

“Are you going to ask Michimiya?” Sugawara asks.

He watches Daichi with a deepened look of covert sarcasm.

“If you guys don’t mind,” Daichi replies.

The comment piques Hinata’s interest.

“Michimiya Yui? The one who was girls’ volleyball captain in your year?”

Daichi nods.

“And my partner.”

Hinata gives a brief look of surprise that eventually morphs into a string of smug expressions.

“Right. I’m clearly out of the loop. Please invite her.”

On the opposite end of the table, Kageyama is watching Hinata with that same vague appearance. It is an aspect he finds discomfiting, albeit not in a manner that speaks irritation. Rather, it is a furtive veil of interest he cannot fathom.

“And Yachi! We need to tell Yachi as well. I’m sure she’ll be interested in going too,” he continues.

At the remark and with the exception of Hinata, the table turns to Tsukishima.

“Can I help you?” Tsukishima asks.

His tone is suffused with an escalating level of vexation.

“You’d be best to answer that question, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says uncertainly.

Tsukishima shoots him a contemptuous scowl before speaking in a steely tone.

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know what Hitoka thinks, so I’m not going to agree on her behalf.”

There is a quizzical silence. Hinata does not immediately register the revelation, yet the table’s expression is congruent with the inquisitive quietude.

“Hitoka…why are you calling… _you_ and Yachi?” Hinata says incredulously.

In one swift motion, he leans uncomfortably close to Tsukishima, who is affronted by the sudden invasion of personal space.

“It’s only recent,” Yamaguchi says.

“A month I believe,” Daichi agrees.

“I can’t believe this,” Hinata starts, “I mean-“

“Um, can we please refrain from discussing my personal life?” Tsukishima interrupts pointedly.

They fall silent at the intense exasperation.

Without further intrusion, the subject is dropped and Sugawara steers the topic to destinations. They settle on the town of Taki, a mountainous region about three hundred kilometres north-west of Sendai.

“Check to see if these dates coincide with your time off and I will talk to work,” Daichi says, “I think a week would be good? What do you say?”

They accept without disagreement.

“Accounting for everyone here, including Yachi and Michimiya,” Hinata counts on his fingers, “that would be…”

Tsukishima lets out a derisive snort.

“I wouldn’t bank on you getting the numbers right even if you’re using a calculator,” he smirks.

“The hell did you say?” Hinata growls.

Sugawara gives an impatient motion.

“We still need confirmation from Michimiya and Yachi,” he says.

Hinata turns to Tsukishima.

“Speaking of Yachi, you still haven’t answered my question. Can you at least tell me about how you two happened?”

“No,” Tsukishima says.

That intonation denotes a firm refusal.

“How is it that I’m the only one who doesn’t know and someone like him does?” he points sullenly in Kageyama’s direction.

There is an inscrutable look beneath Tsukishima’s gaze, and for the briefest of moments, Hinata senses a passive flicker of wariness that has nothing to do with his lack of knowledge. It may be intuition, but a disturbing element that pertains to Tsukishima and Yachi is resounding with escalating unease. 

“It’s late, so I’m heading home,” Tsukishima sighs, “just fill me in with the trip details later.”

When he departs with Yamaguchi, Hinata attempts to extract information from the others. Daichi, however, resolutely interrupts.

“We don’t know much about it either. Tsukishima is incredibly reticent about his personal life, even when Yachi is involved, so it’s not like we know any more than you do.”

“I know a better thing,” Kageyama mutters, “why don’t you just stay out of their business?”

Hinata ignores him.

“Yachi would tell me at least,” he says.

“Like I said, they only just happened,” Daichi assures.

Logic tells him to keep his distance, yet instinct has a way of weaving itself between relationships. He speaks not only for Tsukishima and Yachi, but that tinge of perturbation he gets from Kageyama.

Without further acknowledgement, Hinata tunes out of the ongoing conversation.

Sadness is not the correct term that labels his state of mind. Though there is a component of disconnection, the discomforting feelings fluctuate between indignation and impatience. He cannot entirely resent his friends for keeping important information from him, considering his long absence. However, there are fragments of insecurity he does not wish to acknowledge, let alone unpack.

The reunion trip may reinforce existing bonds, but Hinata gets a contradictory sense of foreboding that something is about to start.


	3. Decision

“Are you sure it is okay for her to come too?”

He is vaguely aware of Michimiya’s predicament, yet he wonders whether her query is redundant.

“I confirmed with the others, it’s fine,” Daichi answers.

Michimiya’s initial expression elicits uncertainty, but he sees the minute traces of appreciation that shades her demeanour.

“Thank you for the offer,” she says.

There is a subtle hint of admiration to her tone, as if Daichi holds the decision making and not the group.

He spins in his chair and faces her.

“It’s fine. I know you and Kaisawa were planning on something, but I thought you may like to join us if you wish.”

She gives him that soften smile he finds so endearing. And when she leans down behind him and places her arms around his neck, he rests his head against hers in contentment.

“So what have you found?” She asks curiously.

Her gaze averts to the multitude of opened windows and tabs across his computer screen.

“We’ve narrowed it down to a couple. Given that there will be ten of us now, there isn’t a lot of places that can accommodate such a large group without booking out an entire house or something.”

Daichi scrolls through the different contenders, each submitted by Sugawara, Hinata, Kageyama and Yachi. Earlier, the group had restricted the numbers down to two.

“Are they houses? They both look quite nice, although the downside to this one here is the cost,” Michimiya says, “what about this one?”

Daichi clicks through the pictures, and together they read the description.

_“This house is your home away from home vacation. Enjoy the comfort of six generous sized bedrooms for the perfect getaway. The house has two large bathrooms and one ensuite attached to the main master room. The newly renovated kitchen and dining accommodates all occasions, together with a dedicated lounge and entertainment area for all your leisurely activities. The house overlooks the beautiful mountainous terrains for a spectacular sunrise and sunset view. Pull yourself away from the bustling city noise and enter a world of peace and quietness. Book today to avoid disappointment.”_

“Quite a fancy explanation for such minimal amounts of photos,” Daichi says testily.

He scrolls through three pictures of an ordinary looking wooden house that overlooks a lavish forest of trees.

On Michimiya’s end, there is a contemplative expression etched between the frown lines of her face.

“It does have everything we need for a big group, but it’s a bit secluded don’t you think?” She says uncertainly.

“Judging from the map, it’s not too bad. I think Hinata and Kageyama were pushing for this one, considering the amount of space it has for those volleyball games,” Daichi sighs.

Michimiya is looking puzzled.

“Volleyball? Outside? In the middle of winter?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.”

He breathes deep, as if conceding defeat.

When Michimiya remains quiet, he is certain her mind is refuting the needlessness of such actions. But her features expound an element of buoyancy he finds surprising.

“That would be fun. I’m all in for that. I think Hikari will enjoy it too,” she says brightly.

Then she turns to him with a sudden confounding expression.

“Hold on, you mentioned ten of us. From what you said earlier, that’s eight from Karasuno. Hikari makes nine…”

Daichi hesitates.

“Oh…right. The tenth person is Kuroo. You know…the guy who went to Nekoma?”


	4. Direction

The scenic mountainous drive gives the impression that distressing muses can be parked and revisited at a later time. But being astray on the road for more than two unnecessary hours, the panoramic views eventually sit low on the agenda.

“I’m getting dizzy from zigzagging through this mountain. Why aren’t we there yet?” Hinata grumbles.

“You’re not even the one driving, so shut your face,” Kageyama snaps.

Four and a half hours confined to a small space amongst ten other people is bound to agitate a brigade of already simmering vexatious emotions. But the blinding snow covered tops and beguiling mountainous atmosphere provides that transient respite to the surrounding restiveness.

“Sugawara is the best driver here, so if you are feeling sick Hinata, thereis no hope,” Dachi says.

“I’m very honoured but don’t give me that much credit,” Sugawara answers sheepishly.

On Hinata’s end, there is a look of pastiness to his face, as if he is seconds from throwing the contents of his stomach.

The motion spins his conscious in a whirr of unpleasant sensations. They transpire unevenly across the recess of his stomach and rise uncomfortably to the surface of his throat. But the nausea does not exacerbate. It recoils during levelled movement, then amplifies with unpredictability.

“Hinata, are you okay? Do you need more anti-nausea tablets? I have quite a few left,” Yachi says.

She manoeuvres to the front where Hinata is seated. And without awaiting a reply, she gently places a tablet into his outstretched hand.

“Do you need water too, let me find you a bottle,” she says quickly.

When she hands him the water, he merely brushes it aside in a feeble attempt to unburden her.

“Hinata, let me help you.”

Her tone is anxious, so he allows her to press the tablet and water to his lips.

“Are you sure you should be babying him that much? It’ll just stall his growth even more,” Tsukishima says from the back.

“What did you say?” Hinata snarls.

Tsukishima gives a long contorted smirk that borderlines disdain.

“Ah I see, enough strength to retaliate but not enough to feed and water himself.”

In the corner, Yamaguchi stops short of a cough that sits somewhere between a snigger and a snort.

“Sorry Hinata, just hang in there, I think we are almost at our destination,” Michimiya says, “I mean, I’m sure it’ll be worth it too, because we are going to have a great reunion."

“That’s fine and all,” Tsukishima flummoxes, “but I thought this is a Karasuno only event. So what’s he doing here?”

He points to the back of a passenger who is seated in front of him.

“How rude,” Kuroo says loudly.

He turns around and presses a palm to Tsukishima’s face.

“I should have taught you some manners back then as well,” he adds.

Then he leans over and grinds his knuckles against the top of Tsukishima’s head.

At the action, there is a wave of unsolicited cheers coming from Hinata and Kageyama’s vicinity.

“Hey! Stop that,” Tsukishima groans.

x

“There is a little small town here, so we’re going to see if there’s anyone who can help direct us,” Daichi says.

They park by the side of the road and both Sugawara and Michimiya follow Daichi out into the chilling cold.

“I’ll go to too, I need to walk for a bit,” Hinata says.

For fifteen minutes they trudge amongst the glistening snow. Though the skies reflect a brilliant shade of cerulean blue, there is an uncanny ambience that engulfs the atmosphere. The raw air that saunters past holds minute traces of apprehension and discomfort. But the blazing warmth of sun brings forth elements of inconsistency Hinata finds unsettling.

The little town barely constitutes a couple small administrative buildings and surrounding houses. And with everything closed, the deserted streets speak a host of emptiness that resonates with loneliness. Perhaps it is the absence of wildlife, or the still aura? Regardless, the area does not signify abandonment, but an unexplainable set of behaviour that denotes home confinement.

“Sawchi, this is a very confusing map to read,” Michimiya says.

She shades the map between her hands in an attempt to reduce the sun’s glare.

“They sent it to me together with the instructions,” Daichi says, “though I think it’s gotten us even more lost.”

Meanwhile, Sugawara is deep in concentration analysing the town’s street direction.

“How odd, this map isn’t even congruent with the one we received. But I think it’s because this one is honed in on the town a bit more,” he says in bafflement.

Twenty metres to their right, there is a small playground huddled by towering trees and scattered wood fire. For the first time since entering town, there are signs of life. Two young children playing on the swings in the most stilted manner.

“Hey, we could ask them?” Hinata suggests.

He points in the direction of the children.

Daichi frowns.

“Do you think they’ll know?”

His voice is wary with layers of attentiveness.

“Won’t hurt to ask. I mean, they might even know where we could go to ask for proper directions,” Hinata replies.

Cautiously, they approach the children.

“Hey!” Hinata says cheerfully, “sorry to bother you two but can you let us know where we could go to ask for directions?”

He keeps his tone light and airy, but the elder child, a boy of about eleven, reciprocates with a small disengaged smile.

“Where do you need to go?” He asks.

When Hinata gestures to Daichi, he hesitantly steps forward and shows him the map.

“We need to get to here, but there are no signs to show us how to enter this road,” Daichi explains.

The boy takes the map from Daichi and stares for an unusually long period of time. And when Hinata is about to break the puzzling silence, the boy hands the map back.

“It’s that way,” he says blankly.

He points to the north-west direction.

“That’s…it?” Sugawara asks uncertainly.

The boy nods.

“Just take the road up there. You can’t miss it.”

He points to the map again, and this time, they see the tiny road the boy had been explaining.

“That is so very small, I didn’t even see it,” Michimiya says.

“Well, it is a confusing map. I can’t read every single road on there if I tried,” Sugawara says, “so it does help when someone knows the way and can give us the right directions.”

At this point, the younger child, a girl of about three, toddles toward Michimiya and pulls on the hem of her long skirts.

“Pretty,” she mumbles.

“Oh…”

Michimiya is looking flustered, and when Daichi grins in apparent agreement, she turns a brighter shade of scarlet.

“Likes…very much…it,” the girl continues.

“Sorry,” the boy says, and he pulls the little girl from Michimiya, “just follow that road and you should be fine."

They all turn once more to the map in Daichi’s hand. Sugawara draws out a pen and squiggles a line across the paper to help demarcate the convoluted roads.

“Thank you-“ Hinata starts.

But when they return their gaze, the children are gone.


	5. Focus

“Ah…you gotta be kidding me right,” Kuroo complains, “we have to hike up there?”

Their destination sits on a fifty metre ascent with no visible roads. There is an indented path that spirals to the entrance, and the only way up is to hike through four inches of snow.

“Fifty metres isn’t that bad, besides, there is a bit of a trail here so we won’t have to trudge through too much snow,” Daichi says.

“Yes, Daichi but do remember we need to carry all our belongings up to the top as well,” Kuroo replies solemnly.

“Ah yes, and who’s great idea was it to push for this place?” Tsukishima says.

He sends an irritable glare in Hinata and Kageyama’s direction.

“Quit your whining,” Kageyama answers roughly.

Without further conversation, they begin the arduous walk.

Halfway through, the incline lessens and the grounds level. And though the steady climb provides that momentary intermission, the weather turns increasingly ‘wild.’

The winds are calm and the snow ceases to fall. But there is a bitter front that penetrates past the skin and sinks to the marrow. It rattles their insides in wave-like chills, as if the elements play only a part of the gnawing sensation.

“Oh dear why is it so cold?” Yachi frets.

Though she visibly sees the frost, the coldness does not immediately translate to all parts of her body. A component of her senses an inexplicable prickle that digs at her internal.

She hoists her bag so it sits closer to her shoulders, perhaps in a futile belief that it will keep her warmer from the back.

“We’re almost there,” Tsukishima points to a large wooden lodge that sits complacently in the middle of a thickened snow laden forest.

“So close yet so far,” Yachi pants, “but I am sweating and it’s freezing at the same time. How does this even make any sense?”

Tsukishima frowns.

“You’re not getting sick are you?”

He puts a hand to her forehead.

“Oh wow, you really are sweaty,” he continues “but you’re quite cold at the same time.”

Yachi reaches for her head and wipes the dripping perspiration. She does not detect a fever. The fluctuating hot-cold flushes are absent, yet she gets the instinct the sweating has nothing to do with the temperature.

“You’re not getting any of this?”

“Not what you’re explaining, no,” Tsukishima replies.

This time, he places a hand to the back of her neck.

“It’s hot,” he says shortly.

And in that same moment, Hinata saunters past in a blur of unrestrained movements.

“Hey Kageyama, I’ll race you to the top,” he challenges, “betcha you’ll lose out this time as well.”

“You wanna bet on that?” Kageyama replies.

They sprint onwards.

“Hey! Don’t go running off like that, it’s dangerous,” Daichi shouts.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s more disturbing, the fact that Daichi is yelling at two grown men, or two grown men racing each other up a hill,” Tsukishima says.

“Some things never change, do they?” Yamaguchi laughs.

Yachi, however, is quiet. She keeps the panic-stricken state in check, albeit the further they ascend, the faster her composure unravels.

Anxiety has its use, but the overreaction suffocates her muse. It rapidly trickles into her physical and exhibits a boundless cascade of discomforting tremors. When she turns to Tsukishima, there is a conflicting rage that devastates her thoughts.

_Please look at me._

_No, don't involve him._

_Please look at me. Look at me._

_Don't bring him into this._

_I can't be the only one experiencing it._

_There is something wrong with me. I'm just a bit unwell that's all. There is nothing to worry about._

_What is this weird feeling?_

_But he didn't feel it._

_I'm the only one._

_Look at me. Turn and look at me._

_Don't involve him._

Without thought, her shoulder automatically brushes against Tsukishima's arm. As if desperate for that external source, the apprehension retracts and she breaks from her nervous stupor.

_Focus on the walk. Focus on your breathing._

Eventually, her mind attunes to the enormous wooden lodge. It comes into view behind a cluster of interconnected like trees that whisper to each other. And though their accommodation is remarkably normal in appearance, Yachi cannot help but sense a wave of grandeur emanating from it. The front entrance is surrounded by an enormous black gate that rattles against a non-existent wind. But the elevated lodge, with its single level, covers a large surface area that extends all the way to the edge of the forest.

“It’s very pretty,” Michimiya says.

There is a bewildered expression to her features as she scans the large floor to ceiling windows.

When Yachi contemplates the space, Yamaguchi stands beside her and watches with a disconcerting gaze.

“Yachi, are you okay?” He asks.

She does not immediately register his question until he repeats himself in a louder tone.

“Oh, Yamaguchi. Sorry, I think I just zoned out a bit,” she answers wearily.

He is looking troubled.

“Everything okay? Tsukki told me you're feeling a bit unwell.”

“I’m fine, I think it was just the onerous hike up here. I’m not very fit you see,” she answers airily.

And though Yamaguchi accepts her reply without further question, she gets the intuition he is unconvinced.

“Alright, let’s see here. Instructions from the owner says the key is in the letterbox,” Daichi reads from a stack of numerous papers.

“Nothing here,” Sugawara calls from behind a wooden column that houses mail.

They check the front, and beneath the doormats. No key.

“Maybe lets try knocking on the door?” Hinata suggests.

He trudges up the steps and gives three loud knocks.

“Anyone in there?” He calls.

No answer.

And when he presses the handle, it sinks and unlocks.

“Hey, it’s opened,” Hinata says surprisingly, “oh guys, key is behind the door.”

They huddle at the entrance.

“How weird,” Daichi says in puzzlement, “well at least we got through. Maybe they forgot to put the key into the mailbox?”

On entry, they assimilate their surroundings in bewildered silence.

Although graceful in appearance, the space does not allude to the online description - there are only five bedrooms and not six. The interior is scattered with mismatched antiquated furniture that appears unused. And across the room, there are oil paintings of abstract scenery and seventeenth century portraits on every wall.

Above, the ceilings are high, with windows that look out into a picturesque landscape of condense forest and faraway mountains.

The wooden walls with its wooden floors reflect standards of high quality materials, however, certain aspects of its internal structure require attendance. Regardless, the overall aspect of the place is impeccable.

“It does give a very cosy, warm vibe with all this brown coloured wood and timber,” Michimiya says.

“I think it’s nice,” Kuroo agrees, “hey look a real fireplace.”

He points to an elaborate mantlepiece with specks of blackened ashes and burnt charcoal that were perhaps residue from the last visitor’s use.

“I got a challenge for the two of you,” Kuroo turns to Hinata and Kageyama, “whoever can bring back firewood the quickest wins.”

They already disappear without further ado.

“Well that was clever of you,” Daichi says.

“Gotta be smart and utilise what we have to our advantage,” Kuroo snickers.

Sugawara appears by the front living room entry.

“How should we do the rooms? There are only five.”

“I’m happy to share a room with Hikari,” Michimiya says, and she points to a beautiful woman with long pale brown hair observing a wall painting.

“No that is okay, Yui, you can stay together with Daichi.”

The sharp dreamy voice is oddly jarring with her appearance. And though her soft feminine like features coincide with parts of her gentle tone, there is a strand of fierceness Yachi finds baffling.

“No no I am happy to stay with you.”

“Oh I must insist, and I do prefer to stay on my own.”

Her response may be innocuous, but there is a smear of resolute beneath her tone.

“Oh, I didn’t realise there was a person I didn’t know,” Kuroo says interestedly.

At his comment, a fleeting look of severeness crosses the woman’s face. She gives Kuroo a long look of dissatisfaction before turning from him.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t even introduce her to everyone,” Michimiya flusters, “this is Kaisawa Hikari. We were in the same class back in high school.”

Michimiya goes around the room and formally introduces Kaisawa.

“You already know Sawchi and Sugawara of course. The other two that ran off for firewood are Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio. I can introduce you to them when they return.”

At the end of her comment, Michimiya is looking uncomfortable.

“Don’t mind, we were all in a rush this morning,” Sugawara assures.

In an attempt to placate the awkwardness, Daichi swiftly speaks.

“So about the rooms,” he says, “Yui I’m happy either way.”

When Michimiya turns to Kaisawa, a non-verbal agreement is exchanged.

“I’m right to stay with you then,” she replies quietly.

There is an initial tinge of embarrassment that suffuses her expression, but Daichi is looking unusually composed, so it is substituted for relief.

“Tsukishima and Yachi, are you two happy to take a room? You can have the main one in case Yui wants to stay with Kaisawa. I can just move around between rooms with the other guys.”

Tsukishima and Yachi exchange glances.

“Ugh…”

“It’s fine,” Yachi says, “if you are okay with that?”

She looks to Tsukishima, who is watching her with an unusually glazed expression.

“Yeah, that’s alright too,” he answers uncertainly.

“Kuroo and I can take one so Daichi is free to join us old people if need be,” Sugawara grins.

“Hey! Who are you calling old?” Kuroo says.

“Yamaguchi you’re okay with Kageyama and Hinata?” Daichi asks.

“Yeah, too easy,” he replies.


	6. Abnormality

That lingering stench does not directly impinge. It interweaves through the air and stagnates in specific sections of the room. Three to be exact, albeit Michimiya cannot fully pinpoint the precise location of said odour.

Their room is furthest from the others. It is sheltered between the back sliding doors and the basement staircase that runs parallel to the upstairs attic. And yet it occupies the largest space, with spectacular views of the surrounding snowscape and mountainous terrains.

“We have a big room,” Daichi says.

He sets their belongings by the rear walls and seats himself on the lounge chair.

“I think this room is bigger than the main bedroom,” Michimiya says, “although it is rather empty without beds.”

She glances speculatively between the built in wardrobe and the mauve coloured chair Daichi is sitting on. Aside from a small glass table, there is no other furniture in the room. The timber walls mimic that of those across the entire lodge, yet the bedroom floors are plastered with a peculiar cream coloured linoleum.

When she slides the wardrobe doors, the mounds of bedding topples and scatters to the ground.

“Oh, here are the futons,” Michimiya says, “Sawchi, there’s only one blanket,” she adds anxiously.

“Is there?”

He does not sound the least perturb. And when he approaches, there is a confounded look that skims his expression.

“Guess we’ll just have to share one between us,” he continues smugly.

“Sorry, but I do not share blankets with anyone but myself,” she answers.

Daichi gives that petulant look she finds absurdly comical. He is always good at palliating discomfort, and secretly, she is grateful for his light-hearted attitude.

“Sharing is caring you know,” he slides his arms around her from behind and presses her against his chest.

“Sawchi, I need to re-organise this because someone didn’t put this back properly when they vacated the premises.”

His hold tightens when she leans down for the blanket.

“Can’t you do that later?”

His words are muffled against her hair. And when she attempts to untangle herself, he inclines his head and lightly kisses her neck.

The sudden need permeates with an intensifying fervour, and when his hand runs the length of her torso, the desire to reciprocate is incredibly profound.

But she suppresses the thoughts and extracts herself from him.

“There’s too much to do right now, but later, okay?”

She turns to him and holds his face.

“Don’t give me that look,” she grins.

Her laugh softens his frown.

“I’ll wait patiently. I’d rather your mind not be preoccupied anyway, right?” he says.

Without awaiting a response, he leans in and presses his lips to hers. Gentle as he is, there is a part of him that sharply contradicts the even, mellow kisses. It awaits her reply, perhaps in a hopeful attempt she will relent.

But she knows him well, because a portion of her is already regretting the imminent withdrawal.

When she breaks from him, her gaze tracks his watch to the opened corridors. For a fleeting moment, his expression contorts between puzzlement and disbelief, as if his mind is present in multiple spaces.

“Sawchi? Is there something wrong?”

He returns his watch to her, and the unusual look abates.

“I thought I just…,” he says uncertainly, “never mind. It’s nothing. What did you need help with?”

She frowns but decides to dismiss the brief oddity.

“If you can help unpack all that food in the kitchen. I’ll check to see if anyone else has a spare blanket.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

His tone is vacant, and when he disappears out the hallway, the passive avidity in his strides are minute.

Daichi’s sudden change in demeanour may be a call for concern, but Michimiya does not wish to complicate matters. He is incredibly straightforward in his mannerisms, and though she senses diminutive traces of abnormality, she also wishes to respect his boundaries - for now.


	7. Ember

The main quarter has a distinctive emptiness that pervades the unnatural atmosphere. It is the only room in this section of the lodge, and houses nothing but a mahogany armchair and a quaint free standing cabinet.

Between splintered frames of two large windows, there is an enormous blackened lake that radiates a polarising energy of serenity and unease.

The trees, with its identical forms and bulging outlines, are denser and closer from this angle. Yachi can just make out the little zones of valleys between patches of compressed greenery. Yet only segments of the forest are covered in snow, and though she finds it peculiar, she cannot help but appreciate the abstract appeal.

“Hey.”

His deep voice permeates her trance.

“Are you sure about this arrangement?” He asks sceptically.

He is watching her with that same ambivalent expression, but this time, she see traces of apprehension behind his gaze.

“It’s fine. I think it works better this way, unless you are not comfortable?”

He does not immediately speak, as if he is finding it difficult to discern her question.

“No, it’s fine,” he eventually says, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

He pauses.

“Are you feeling better?”

She diverts her mind from the windows. Perhaps it is the air quality, or the general ambience of her surroundings, but there is a queer sensation she cannot identify. Whether it be a tangible manifestation, or an aspect of her conscious, her reality is distorted. And the more she is fixated past those windows, the stronger the surrealism.

“Not perspiring anymore, which is good, but I do feel a bit…strange.”

Tsukishima is quiet, and for a brief moment, she wonders whether she spoke the words out loud.

“Strange?” He repeats.

When she nods, he closes the distance between them and surveys her closely.

“You do look pale,” he says quietly.

At this point, she can feel the radiating comfort of his proximity. It temporarily suspends her in the solitude of a frigid atmosphere, as if there is an external energy that is pulling her from him with equal force.

“Hitoka?”

His voice is like a distant light that guides her from the convoluted sensation.

“I’m sorry, I think I just zoned out a bit.”

She shakes her head. But it gets her dizzy with that same chilling coldness she experienced during the ascent.

When she stumbles from the window, Tsukishima catches her in a secure embrace.

“I think you should get some rest,” he says.

“I'll do that,” she answers tentatively, “you go on ahead.”

He does not immediately let go. Perhaps out of discomfort, her hold is unusually rigid?

Regardless, he allows her to rest against him for some time. And though she is acutely aware of his warmth, her mind tunes into a wave of unexpected exhaustion.

Only sometime later, she automatically detaches from him in request for sleep.

He does not respond, but gives her a look only she can comprehend.

He will be here if she needs him.

x

That rattling noise unsettles her. But she cannot grasp its origin, nor orientate herself in a manner that gets her closer to the source. For several moments, it echoes, and then ceases without delay. It plays like that in three second intervals. Noise. Silence. Noise. Silence. Noise. Silence.

Irrespective of time lapse, her mind does not sync with the tenacious hum. As if her conscious is sitting in a world of its own, and the sound is like a faraway object that floats serenely in a bubble. But that discomfiting commotion is reminiscent of scraping furniture and thudding footsteps. It sends her muse into a spiral of unseen terror, and with a sudden jolt, her eyes are opened.

Her breathing is anomalous - heavy yet abnormally calm.

At the opposite end, she sees Tsukishima, who is setting their bags by the corner and looking wildly displeased about something.

But the sounds of her stir breaks his concentration, and he turns to her.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks.

“No, not that. How long have I been asleep?”

He gives her a puzzled look, as if her question confuses him.

“Less than five minutes I think? I just went to get our belongings.”

For a brief moment, there is a surge of apprehension that skims her entirety, as if a part of her does not comprehend the feeling of sleeping for five hours when reality says it is five minutes.

“I see. I just had the weirdest dream, maybe not in a visual manner but sensation wise.”

She speaks without having any idea what she is saying.

“Is everything okay?” Tsukishima asks.

He approaches the armchair with a perplexed frown.

“I-I think so. I mean, I do feel a bit better.”

She keeps quiet about the dream’s physical sensations. The details are irrelevant.

At her comment, Tsukishima kneels before her and peers closely.

“You do have some colour back in you. I mean, if five minutes is all you need, I’d like to know your secret.”

She gives a light laugh.

“Do you need help with bringing stuff here?”

“No, that’s okay I brought everything in one round,” he answers.

She averts to the ground in self-reproach.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you do all the work-“

“Why are you apologising?” He interrupts, “it’s fine.”

She returns his response with heightened guilt.

“You were also helping me carry some of my things up that hike, and the least I could have done was help bring them to the room…” her coherency lessens with time, “carrying everything…could have hurt yourself…and then you would be injured…then what…you won't be able to complete college or start work or play volleyball...would be my fault you ended up…you-“

“Hitoka,” he leans forward and gently pinches her cheeks, “get your mind out of those ridiculous scenarios.”

“…ooohh…bart ish deufunatly shometfhing tooh beeish…conshern-”

“Ah sorry,” he interjects, “but I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

When he lets go of her, she is appreciative of the light-hearted scenario. Tsukishima has the uncanny ability to halt her thought processes, and though his methods may appear unconventional, she finds the act incredibly endearing.

“I think my head goes into overdrive too much,” Yachi says.

“Yes, that is an understatement,” he smirks.

She exhales in resignation.

“I’m not even going to refute that statement."

Her tone is cynical, but beneath the multitude of negativity, there sits a passive wisp of playfulness that only exists between her and Tsukishima.

“Thank you though, for helping,” she continues gratefully.

His smile is mellow, perhaps with a component of gentleness only she can see.

When he does not speak, she takes his hand and presses it between hers. His warmth is like an invisible security that keeps her world sane and her internal balanced. She is yet to accustom herself to parts of his presence, considering their tentative relationship, but for his sake she wants to keep this ember alive.

His kindness is that motive for hope, yet the irreparably broken fragments she carries is like a forlorn impediment to such fulfilment. The past haunts her in ways she never anticipates, and though she keeps them suppressed, she cannot help but sense a level of diminishing self-control. She wonders if she will ever give this relationship the nurture it so deserves, or rather, what _he_ deserves?

When Yachi turns to him, there are elements of sadness and fear that entwines her features. Though it may be fleeting, Tsukishima is astute, and he sees past her composure.

He reciprocates with covert hesitancy. And given his level of intuition, she is unsurprised. Sadness may not fully characterise her feelings for their situation, but some inexplicable component compels her into action.

When she reaches for him and threads her fingers through his hair, she expects an immediate reaction. But he only responds vacantly, as if they are both separated from each other’s reality.

Though time and space ceases to exist, reality processes the moment in about ten seconds.

She abruptly withdraws in one startling motion.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…"

Her voice is small and wavering.

“That’s okay,” he says quietly, “it’s fine.”

There is an edge of disappointment to his tone, as if her action hurts him.

“If you're feeling better, then we should get going. I think they’re waiting for us,” he says.


	8. Necessitate

A friendship reunion is often synonymous with profound jubilance that gently excuses past disagreements and conflict. Initially. But for one person, those overt feelings are not present.

It is not his reunion, nor his friend’s. He is an outsider, and frankly he does not have the slightest regard for those guilt laden sensations. And grateful as he is for Daichi’s insistence that he join the trip, a part of him sits in a billowing pool of resentment he wishes to never revisit.

Darkness impedes and snow falls, but by the warmth of a magnificent fireplace, the group congregates with visible enthusiasm.

“I think it’ll be Sawchi, Sugawara and myself that will be doing the meals tonight,” Michimiya says brightly.

“Great, I’m starving,” Kuroo replies.

He sits by the giant velvet armchair and precariously balances a stack of firewood on his wrists.

“Are we having a feast?” Hinata asks eagerly.

“Sorry, it’s only curry. A bit late to cook anything extravagant,” Sugawara says.

“Unless you can make it yourself, you need to quit with the expectation,” Kageyama says.

“I never said I expected anything, stop making assumptions,” Hinata snaps.

They bicker with increasing decibels, until Daichi, Michimiya and Sugawara conveniently disappear to the kitchen, and Tsukishima and Yachi proceed not long after.

“You brought three volleyballs with you?” Yamaguchi queries.

He hovers uncertainly over in the corner where Kageyama’s bag is spilling with unnecessary sport content.

“And two flattened spares, just in case,” Kageyama answers proudly.

In cheerful silence, they survey the numerous books, magazines and sport equipments.

Meanwhile, Kuroo assimilates the surrounding space on autopilot.

At the far end of the room, the woman he met earlier today, Kaisawa, is quietly analysing another piece of artwork on the darkened wooden walls. There is a contemplative expression to her features, as if she is decrypting an incredibly complex code.

But he peruses her like she is perusing the details of the drawing. Intense, entranced, yet curious, he surveys her beauty with increasing fright. As if he does not understand the separation between his thoughts and the foreign physical sensations, the apprehension escalates.

Bewildered, he re-focuses on her entirety and tracks her now hollow gaze to the outside window. The snow falls in gentle sways, but Kaisawa is looking petrified at something. The momentary expression lasts about two seconds, then she abruptly turns and disappears into the hallway.

“…just passing the ball, it’ll be okay right? Kuroo?”

The voice echoes but it is the ball against his arm that breaks the trance.

“Huh? Oh sorry, zoned out,” he answers quickly.

“Already? We haven’t even started drinking,” Hinata says, “I was saying do you want to play a bit of restricted volleyball? Kageyama is going to set, you can receive, and I can just do a bit of gentle spiking. Like a tap tap kind of way. Yamaguchi can do a little serve.”

“Yeah sure,” he replies, “but let’s try the dining area where the ceilings are a bit higher. I don’t want to risk knocking over those expensive looking vases or that creepy looking seventeenth century painting.”

x

“Is there a reason why we can feed a family of twenty over a period of a month with all this?” Tsukishima asks.

He is looking unimpressed with the enormous amounts of food piled in large bags and boxes.

“Some of us don’t eat as little as you do, Tsukishima,” Daichi says from somewhere at the stove.

The kitchen interlinks with the dining zone in tandem to create one elongated space. But much of the area is taken up by the unnecessary oversized table that stretches from one end of the room to the other.

The lights are brighter here, with its multitude of floor to ceiling windows that overlook the scenic snowy mountains.

But the coldness pervades, and Kuroo gets the inkling that something is impeding the fireplace’s infiltrating warmth. The sensation is greater and denser by the walls of the dining area. Perhaps discernible enough that he briefly halts mid-walk and surveys the differing temperatures between the wall and the adjacent corridor.

Eventually, he dismisses the oddity and associates it with a lack of proper insulation.

“Yachi, it’s okay, you can leave it to us. We are designated cooks for tonight,” Michimiya says.

She stands by the prep bench and watches Yachi with her methodical potato cutting.

“Oh no, it’s fine. I want to help out, it gives me something to do,” Yachi answers sheepishly, “Oh Hinata, hello.”

Hinata saunters by with that animated energy he ubiquitously carries.

“We’re just going to be playing a bit of restricted volleyball over here because the ceilings are higher,” he says.

At the comment, there is a loud ‘tch’ sound coming from Tsukishima’s direction.

“High ceiling or not, is there a reason why you must submit to playing inside such a confined space? It’s honestly an accident waiting to happen,” he says irritably.

“Hey Yachi, what do you see in a party pooper like him?” Hinata grumbles.

His question sends a deluge of suppressed snorts from Kageyama and Kuroo.

“Oh…I…” Yachi is looking flustered, “…I mean…”

“Tsukki is a great partner in lots of other aspects and I am sure Yachi thinks so too. They really do make a great team, it really isn’t about the-“

Yamaguchi halts at the escalating disdain on Tsukishima’s face.

“Shut it,” he says.

His tone borderlines exasperation.

“Sorry Tsukki,” Yamaguchi replies.

Without further commotion, they play several games of restricted volleyball, until Hinata accidentally spikes the ball too hard (on multiple occasions) and it rebounds in the tiny space and hits Yamaguchi in the head (on multiple occasions).

“Will you quit with the violent playing!” Daichi yells from the kitchen bench.

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so,” Tsukishima mutters.

x

“How can something be so simple but taste so good?” Hinata says.

They surround the dining table and toast to their first reunion since high school.

Forty-five minutes into dinner and roughly seventy percent of this rowdy mob have succumbed to the enchanting effects of alcohol. This may include Kuroo himself, but he has an unusually high tolerance that normally sucks his wallet dry before he can bask in the pleasures of inebriation.

“Or are you sure you’re just not simple minded?” Tsukishima jeers.

“The hell did you say?” Hinata growls from across the table.

Beside him, Kageyama lets out a short jibing snicker that indicates his agreement.

“Are you concurring?” Hinata turns sharply in Kageyama’s direction.

“I’m quite impressed His Majesty was able to make sense of what I said,” Tsukishima says.

“What was that?” Kageyama snaps.

Without awaiting an answer, he takes a long draught of beer and tumbles out of sight.

“I find it funny how you still call him that,” Sugawara says, “you two haven’t played volleyball together since high school.”

Tsukishima gestures airily.

“Ah, some things do remain unchanged no matter how long it’s been. Just an aspect of people’s personality.”

His tone is saturated with complacent sarcasm.

“Yeah, much like your rotten attitude,” Hinata says irascibly.

Kuroo lets out a short comical laugh.

“Oh the bickers of youth, it brings back memories,” he sighs.

“Um, you’re not that much older than us,” Tsukishima says.

“Speaking of which, Kuroo, what brings you on this trip?” Hinata asks, “I mean of course you’re always welcome to hang out with us, but aren’t you usually in Tokyo?”

At the query, Daichi suddenly piques with a taut wariness.

“He just so happens to be in town-“ he starts.

Kuroo waves nonchalantly.

“I got dumped,” he interjects bluntly.

The infiltrating air is stifling, yet the pitying silence is what suffocates him.

“Don’t look so glum, people get dumped all the time, it’s not a big deal,” Kuroo continues.

He does not understand the judgement that surrounds parting relationships. Life, just like everything that exists within its boundary, is transient. For the sake of happiness, there is no need to subject oneself to the sufferings of separation.

Perhaps he has very little patience, or compassion for what people call attachment? Regardless, he does not see a need to pigeon hole himself to the notion of forever.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sugawara says quietly.

The table gives a brief nod of affirmation.

“Honestly, it wasn’t working anyways so it’s fine,” Kuroo says.

He keeps the agitation at bay, despite its imminency.

“Was that why you were in Sendai?” Hinata asks.

“Yeah, pretty much. Of all the women I could have dated in Tokyo, I decided to pick one in Sendai,” he lets out a chortle that lands somewhere between resignation and amusement.

Then, he turns to Daichi with an appreciative grin.

“But ran into old chum here right after the ex-missus walked out on me. He thought I might want a bit of a getaway. Perfect timing,” he takes his beer and toasts in midair.

Daichi reciprocates the action with a small smile of acknowledgement.

Unpleasant as it was to have ended a two year relationship, he did not allow the preceding emotions to pervade. Years of experience taught him to keep negativity silenced and attachment unchained. Fast forward several weeks and his mind is already divorced from the memories of his previous relationship. There may be discomfort that surrounds him, but he is greatly indebted to his friend.

“So enough about my boring love life, I can see a few of you have paired up,” he gestures at Tsukishima and Yachi, then Daichi and Michimiya, “my bad I haven’t been keeping up with some people lately. I only recently found out Bokuto is seeing someone as well.”

“What?” Hinata yelps, “how come I didn’t know about this?”

Tsukishima lets out a sardonic laugh.

“You two have been on the same team for how long now, and you still didn’t know? Fair enough you may not know about some of us, but the fact that we all knew about Bokuto before you did. Damn, this one takes the cake.”

“Ah, Tsukki, you guys only knew when I found out earlier,” Kuroo says.

“Yeah, but Hinata is…” he attempts to stifle the laugh, “…is on the same team for months…I can’t even…”

He is bent double against the table in a futile attempt for containment.

There is an accelerating level of vexation that skims Hinata's demeanour, as if he is withholding the urge to thwack Tsukishima across the head.

“Alright, is there anyone else here who’s romping someone that I don’t know about?” Hinata demands.

“No one else, I guarantee you,” Sugawara says, “I mean I can definitely vouch for myself on that.”

“Who’s romping who?”

Kageyama’s voice floats through the hallway and lands at the table’s centre.

“Oi you! Are you romping anyone? Now is a good time to tell me,” Hinata says grouchily.

Kageyama gives a reproachful frown.

“What is this idiot smoking?”

He approaches the table with three flattened volleyballs cradled in his arms.

“Why are you carrying those?” Yamaguchi asks inquisitively.

“Good question. I just bloody pumped these earlier. So which one of you here deflated my balls?” Kageyama says harshly.

At the question, Tsukishima and Kuroo snort into their drinks.

“I’m surprised they were ever inflated in the first place,” Tsukishima jeers.

“Kei!” Yachi exclaims.

At the remark, Sugawara, Daichi, Michimiya, Hinata and Yamaguchi covertly restrain themselves from a tidal wave of inappropriate snickers.

“Get off your high horse you little shit,” Kageyama shoots Tsukishima a derisive scowl.

They bicker and banter until the night progresses and the fall of snow is intermittent. And only when Hinata and Kageyama pass out, does the jovial atmosphere contort into a mixture of contentment and exhaustion.

“Ah, this is ridiculous, I just charged this damn phone,” Kuroo says.

He leans in with every intent on taking pictures of a sleeping Hinata and Kageyama.

“And I wanted to post this to social media,” he adds disappointingly.

“Why would you even bother,” Tsukishima says, “we have no reception on this mountain.”

In response, there is a sudden fierce look of concentration plastered across Sugawara's features, as if he is solving an extremely complex puzzle.

When he pulls out his phone and scrolls the content with acute avidity, Daichi surreptitiously leans over and watches in contemplation.

“You look like you’re moments from a breakthrough,” he says.

“Oh, Tsukishima’s comment just jogged my memory of something. I get how there is no reception here, considering the location, but I downloaded a map application that utilises GPS signals because I knew this place would be difficult to get to. It works really well and you don’t need any internet or phone connection, very much like a real GPS. But I noticed how it stopped working once we were a quarter way up the mountain, hence getting lost for an extra two hours.”

He pauses and shows the table the opened application on his phone.

“I mean, I’ve been on many mountain trips before and this has worked so well. Point is, every time I put the address of this place in, it directs us to this little area here, but then quickly changes to that small village we stopped by. Both are completely different places.”

He provides a brief demonstration.

“How weird,” Kuroo says, “maybe it’s just thinking. But hey, we made it here.”

For a fleeting second, Daichi gives a nonplus frown that indicates a vacillating interest. Eventually, he turns to Sugawara and concurs with Kuroo’s clarification.

“Yeah, I don’t entirely trust technology these days. But he’s right, we are here now.”

Tsukishima, however, is looking slightly unconvinced, albeit he does not speak.

“Well then, I think I should go charge my phone. Maybe I downloaded too many things on here and it’s drained the batteries,” Kuroo frowns.

“Why does that sound so shady?” Yamaguchi says.

“Because it is, my friend. A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do,” he smirks.

Kaisawa, who has been quiet the entire time, lets out a short indignant scoff at the comment.

“Disgusting,” she says coldly.

He faces her, and for the first time since their meeting, he notices the deepen red vessels that lines her inner eyes.

She gives him an unfriendly stare that infiltrates with deep elements of disdain and revulsion.

Partially confronted, he is uncertain as to whether it was the comment made or if there are other underlying reasons for her immense aversion.

Regardless, he does not wish to overthink such matters, and in an attempt to placate the situation, he leans over and taps her shoulder in apology.

“Sorry if I-“

She slaps his hand away with astonishing force.

“Don’t touch me!”

Her piercing tone infuses the air with a tremendous bout of fury. This time, she gives him a look of deepest disgust that borderlines hatred.

Without another word, she stalks off into the hallway.

Troubled, he sits there in agonising silence.

Never in his life has he come across anyone so forthcoming. The abhorrence she has for him transcends that of any scrap of loathing a human can have for another. Frankly, he does not know what he did to evoke such an intense reaction from a stranger.

“I am so sorry!” Michimiya flails, “Kuroo are you alright?”

“Yeah, I-I’m fine,” he answers tentatively.

“I’m so sorry. Hikari doesn’t like being touched, especially by men.”

There is an expansive trail of guilt that sweeps her demeanour, and when she quickly trudges after Kaisawa, the swell of discomfort does not abate.

Even with Michimiya’s explanation, there is no immediate allayment to the inexplicable speculations he has of Kaisawa. Perhaps it is something peculiar about her that piques his notice? He does not comprehend the surge of foreign interest, but there is a small yet forbidden part of him that necessitates a full scrutinisation of this enigmatic woman.


	9. Unfamiliar

Content as he is with the encapsulating warmth, there exists an imbuing sharpness that oscillates back and forth. His conscious is complacent in its own world of dreams, but his external is detached. 

It is the rattling sound that perfectly represents an imprisoned marble colliding against tin. But then comes the prickling coolness that spirals into a biting chill. It crawls across the skin and burrows beneath in one deformed movement.

Yet the sensation does not stir him. Perhaps his conscious is captivated by the safety of that nearby warmth?

The sound reappears. Not one marble. But two. Then three. Four. It approaches with elevated stridency.

_"I'm here."_

His breathing is heavy. Erratic.

_"Here."_

That nearby warmth recedes.

_"Here. Here."_

The voice is unfamiliar. Gentle. Soft. Blank.

_"I'm here. Look here."_

The tone is reminiscent of someone young. And when the decibels increase, his head is hurting and his body is stilted. 

_"HERE."_

The word resounds in a manner that burns his ears and pierces his skull.

In one agonising jolt, he wakes to the penetrating stillness.

There is an uncanny darkness that swarms his vision. It infiltrates his surroundings and sits against the turbulent beats of his heart.

But he cannot grasp its origin. 

The room is shaded in an inky monotone of black and grey, as if the space is a breathing object that is neither living nor thriving. Just surviving. 

Interweaved between stale air is the pungent stench of alcohol that mixes with an odious smell of rotting carcasses.

At the far end of the room is Yamaguchi, who is nestled comfortably beneath the security of sheets. Hinata keeps watch of his breathing, as if the rise and fall is what keeps his conscious present. 

Then there is Kageyama, who is stretched out beside him with his hand wrapped firmly around Hinata's arm. Though the rest of his body is reposed, it is his expression that disconcerts. Perhaps Kageyama is experiencing a different world of dreams? His hold is unnaturally strained, as if he is afraid of something that only exists in his imagination. 

But it is the warmth that contradicts his mind. It may be the protracted intoxication or the abnormality of their surrounding, but a deeper part of him relishes in the physical comfort of Kageyama.

That discountenance sound again. And this time, he turns his gaze to the previously closed door. Though the skies are cloudy, there is a single silvery beam of moon that permeates past the window and across the room's entrance. 

Perhaps his mind is suspended between fantasy and reality, but he identifies a small silhouette. A shadowy outline of a girl in a sundress and straw hat.

Confounded, he squints at the doorway for a long time, until the figure shifts past the walls and her little form is stretched into a bizarre shadow. 

When he finally blinks, the outline is gone.

Puzzled, yet unconcerned, he turns and falls back into the unconscious.


	10. Instinct

"Are they okay?"

Her voice is anxious with traces of amusement.

"They're fine. Yamaguchi is keeping an eye on them," Tsukishima answers.

He holds his arm steady, then gives a light stretch to ease the pounding cramp. 

"What happened to your arm? Is everything alright?"

She gives a frown that indicates pure apprehension.

"It's fine. Kageyama is just heavy. Although, I am finding it difficult to fathom how we needed five guys to drag two passed out idiots to their room."

He takes a seat by the armchair and presses his back against the softness. It is an exhausting night but solace comes to him in varying forms of company and quietude. He enjoys their companionship, but part of being an introvert is the pleasure he gets from extended alone time.

For the first time, his solitude will be tested. Yachi may be one extra person, but her presence is remarkably profound. She brings an element of sweetness he finds enticing, yet instils a sense of unease that keeps his mind cautious.

"Okay, well you tell me if it doesn't get any better," she says, "I'll set up the futons."

She pulls two sets of bedding from the cabinet and lays them beside each other. He does not question her choice of proximity. Frankly, he is surprised she is placing them so close to each other.

When Yachi reaches for the second pillow, she is met with resistant. Her fingers trawl in between the gaps of the upper shelves in an attempt to dislodge it, but her height is a severe impediment. 

"You right there?" Tsukishima says.

He approaches from behind and reaches over her.

"Oh, thank you. I am ever so jealous of your height sometimes," she says sheepishly.

He frowns.

"I don't think you'd want to be my height, that would be a bit strange."

She waves insouciantly, as if he is missing the point.

"But you can reach things, and you can see the world more."

Without responding, he takes over her position and reaches through the gap. In a split second, there is a searing pain that passes through his fingertips and up towards the middle of his hand. Startled, he swiftly withdraws.

"Argh!"

He lets out a short gasp like breath that sends a disconcerting energy through the air.

"What's the matter, did you hurt yourself?" Yachi asks fearfully.

"No it's fine," he shakes his hand to palliate the pain, "it's nothing."

Yachi is looking troubled.

"Let me see it," she says fretfully.

He does not heed her request. Instead, he reaches up and dislodges the pillow from the upper shelves.

"Here," he says airily, "it's fine, I got it in the end."

x

When Yachi disappears for the bath, Tsukishima ends up finalising the futon set up. 

There is an unfounded wisp of agitation he finds puzzling. Perhaps it has nothing to do with Yachi and everything to do with him? It may be a response to their meticulous bedding arrangement, but that very same vexation entwines with the superimposing element of unexplainable need.

He keeps his body present and his mind thoughtless, but her reappearance sends a host of sensations that nullifies his efforts.

Yachi keeps quiet at the way he arranges the futons - at least two metres from each other, but there is a brief look of disapproval that sprinkles the surface of her bemused expression.

"You know, I'm not going to bite if that's what you are afraid of, Kei," she says tensely.

He does not like the way she incorporated his name into that sentence. It ends with a hard edge that emphasises an element of covert condemnation.

Yachi perfects the suppression of disapproval toward others with flawless ease. Though her personality showcases overt anxiety, she will not hesitate to flag dissatisfaction if she finds the situation illogical. However, this aspect of hers may be more pronounced because of the close relationship she has with him. Close association, particularly those pertaining to intimacy, will inevitably unravel a host of perplexing personalities that are never seen if two people were just friends.

"Sorry, I thought considering our circumstance, you may want some space," he says.

She approaches and kneels on the floor before him.

"If we keep maintaining distance like this, we'll never get anywhere," she replies quietly.

He appreciates the thought she gives, and realistically she is correct with the explanation. But a part of him is afraid of the uncertainty. He has learnt to be selective and critical of what he deems important or worthy of effort. To him, Yachi is worth more than a lifetime's sacrifice, yet the insecurities that lingers before him - how _she_ truly feels - sends him into a spiral of intimidation that manifests in withdrawal.

When he does not speak, she takes his hands and interlinks them with hers.

"Talk to me. Please?"

Her tone is soft with disheartenment.

But the fear is so flagrant, he cannot connect with the logical aspect of her questioning.

She holds the silence for quite some time, until her searching gaze resigns and she lets go of him.

Though he regrets the severed contact, the uncertainty that plagues him is complacent.

"Goodnight then," she whispers.

She leans in and tentatively kisses his forehead.

In the midst of her touch, he can smell her intoxicating scent and the sweet allure that accompanies her presence.

Momentarily dazed, he does not realise that she has long ago detached herself from his propinquity. He sits there in his own reverie. The need that courses through when she is close holds more than just the impending lust he has for her.

Within the comfort of sheets, Yachi is already settled. She has closed the two metre gap between their futons and is now an arm's length from where he sits.

When the lights are off and the silvery beams of moon illuminates, Tsukishima watches on in bated quietude. He does not know where the apprehension originates, but the restiveness he gets is not one of negativity. He lays there and faces the beautiful woman he has come to appreciate on all levels.

Again, there is a mass of intrusive fragility that erodes his insides. Inevitably, he shuts them off and re-focuses his watch on her face.

As if analysing a tenuous piece of artwork, his gaze softens to sync with the delicate lines of her features. He tracks them in a downward motion, until his focus arrests on the subtle outline of her breasts. The fabrics of her nightdress may be a hindrance to his gaze, but he can still make out that perfect shape as it spills from the V of her top. And only when she stirs and readjusts her position does a delicate strap fall from her shoulder to reveal the silky paleness of her skin. 

In that moment, there is a surge of need that pulsates his very core. The desirous feeling sits in the narrow gaps of his aching centre, and when she gives a verbal sigh of content and readjusts again, the sensation heightens at the sudden sight of her protruding nipple. His erratic breathing may mimic the volatility of his body, but it is his thoughts that intensifies the graphic fantasy.

Laden with guilt, he shuts his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to quell the escalating lechery. 

Somehow, somewhere along the way, his mind eventually tunes from the explicit imagery. He keeps his conscious focused on the humming sounds of something external.

And without giving much thought to the strange rattling sound, he slowly falls into a world of abstractness.

x

Intuition has a mysterious way of directing people from imminent peril. A red flag or warning. But he does not often consider his instincts. Perhaps his faith relies solely on pragmatism, science or what can be deduced. But this area, in less than twenty-fours, has consistently challenged these beliefs.

He does not know what aggravates him, but there is a set of unease external to the turmoil plaguing his inner muse. The feelings amplify in ways he cannot comprehend, as if he is walking through a surrealistic dream that has real life repercussions. 

Perhaps it is the sound of scraping furniture or the incessant buzzing that surrounds a half-dead light globe?

But he does not startle awake. Rather, an eerie rouse from the unconscious that is guided by something from the real world.

The darkened ceiling is what he sees, followed by the gentle fall of snow behind panes of glass.

When he turns to his right, Yachi is already sitting up and facing the blank walls behind him. Her stare is glazed, unfocused, as if her mind is still asleep but her body is attuned to reality.

"Hitoka?"

His voice is quiet, albeit guarded.

She does not react.

He speaks again.

No reaction.

He shuffles forward, until he is inches from her proximity.

"Hitoka?"

Her stare remains transfixed on the wall behind, and when he attempts to track her gaze, the vacantness is as vast as ever.

"Hey," he lightly touches her shoulder, "is everything alright?"

At his touch, she wakes.

"Oh, Kei," she says softly.

"Are you alright?"

He surveys her closely.

"I-I'm fine. I'm sure I am."

Her voice is unusually robotic.

Then without any indicator, she leans in and presses her body to him.

"You're so warm," she utters.

Her hand slides to his back and up beneath his shirt. But it is her touch that renders him immobile. She gives a long outward breath that lands somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, as if a part of her is highly content.

Though logic dominates, it is speaking to him in words he fails to understand. He cannot make sense of the situation, let alone the surge of deepening desire that surfaces.

When her hand approaches the front, she automatically slides his shirt up so it sits just above his chest. Then, she presses into him again, this time with much more force.

"So warm," she mutters.

She glides her torso up against him in a manner that spells urgency.

At her action, he can feel the contrasting softness of her body against the hard planes of his chest. It ignites a billion enigmatic sensation that is incongruent with the state of uncertainty his mind resides in.

Immense as the urge is to reciprocate, he gets the strong instinct that Yachi may be acting in her sleep.

But there is longing beneath the very blank surface of her gaze, as if a part of her subconscious is desperate to emerge. He is unsure whether the need is related to Yachi's past, but a part of him is certain of the answer.

Perhaps this is where the fear stems from?

Regardless, he was the one who chose to involve himself - at a time when Yachi was at her lowest, her most vulnerable.

_I should not have taken it this far._

He refrains from blaming her. After all, was it not he that took advantage? A selfish desire to fulfil that emptiness without thinking of the dire consequences to follow.

"Hitoka," he halts her movement, "lets get you back to sleep, okay?"

She does not respond, so he lays her against the sheets and watches her for quite some time.

Anger may be not be an accurate depiction of his state, but he will not refute the rising resentment that spills from his core.

In all his living years, he has never loved anyone as much as he loves Yachi.

Yet perturbation gnaws at him. Because when selfishness interweaves with the notion of love, does that inevitably turn into obsession?


	11. Ethereal

Not for the first time, his body has taken the initiative to direct his thoughts. It sets off a series of chain reaction that puts him in an endless loop of compromising situations. His mind may act as the ultimate control centre, but his body is undoubtedly forceful. He should not underestimate its ability.

It is fifteen minutes past one in the morning, and he is already spending an unusual chunk of time staring into the deepened forest.

Through the kitchen window and past the fall of snow, the trees stand tall and close. As if bounded by an invisible sheath, they appear unusually misshapen and uncomfortably distorted beneath the beams of moon.

Kuroo does not give thought to the heavily snow laden trees that surrounds the sides of the lodge, nor the line of dead ones that borders the edge of their accommodation.

Distraction arrives to disrupt his peace, and tonight, it is Kaisawa.

Beneath the encircling darkness, she stands by the floor to ceiling window that separates the dining area from the outside world. Blank, emotionless and tantalisingly alluring, her watch is heavily fixated on the gentle sway of snow.

Logic says to keep his distance, considering the events of tonight, but it is the domineering part of his body that inevitably dictates. Perhaps curiosity is the latent reason? Regardless, he is yet to comprehend the assertive role his body takes when there is something he wants - object, experience or human.

"Can't sleep?"

His tone is covertly apprehensive.

_Of what?_

Her acknowledgement of his presence is bizarrely slow, as if there is a time lag.

When she turns to him, he does not see those deepened reddish veins that lines her eyes from earlier. Below her thickened framed fringe, her gaze is dishearteningly lifeless.

But it is the softened features of her small face, and the velvety paleness of her skin that is synonymous with that of an ethereal being. In all his life, he has never seen anything so incredibly beautiful.

"You're Kuroo, right?" 

There is a strange dip to her voice, as if agitation entwines her tone.

"Yes," he answers uncertainly, "and while I'm at it, I should also apologise for what happened earlier."

Kaisawa is momentarily silent.

"Oh no, I am sure it is fine."

Her response is disconcerting. Perhaps it is compounded by the blank yet dreamy tone?

Incredulous, he awaits further elaboration, but she does not speak.

"Right. I just didn't expect such a straightforward forgiveness."

She gives a mellow smile that heavily conflicts with the Kaisawa he is used to. He cannot pin down the contradiction in her demeanour, albeit there seems to be an uncanny aura that is providing a vigilant level of protection.

"Aside from all that's happened, are you enjoying the trip so far?" he continues.

"Oh yes, very much so. It is nice to get away for a little bit."

She answers without shifting her gaze from the window.

"It's calming isn't it? The snow? I use it as a way to restrain my mind," Kuroo says.

"How so?"

Her tone is monotonous, yet the intrigue that lines her expression is what bemuses him.

"Imagine your thoughts as snow particles. One thought per one snow particle. Then watch as it falls and disappears. You assign your thoughts to something tangible. That way, you can physically do whatever you want with it. Because snow falls slower than rain, it is easier for your mind to regulate itself."

She is quiet from then on, until the hour passes and she soundlessly disappears into the night without indicating her dismissal.

It is not uncertainty that plagues his mind. Kuroo has come to accept her reticent demeanour and the unpredictability she exudes. It is his reaction and the inexplicable emotions in response to her volatility that rattles his insides.

Keeping distance and feelings detached is what he values. And though he does not wish to acknowledge his circumstance as anything more than curiosity and lust, there are components of attachment he cannot partition.

For the next twenty minutes, he stands by the kitchen sink and stares into his cup of un-drunken tea.

His trance does not break until he is pouring liquid into the drains. Instead of dissipating, it bubbles past the hole and overflows.

"What on earth have those guys been pouring down the sink?" he murmurs.

He turns the tap and flushes the drain. It does not flood. There is an odd gurgling sound that echoes from the pipes and reverberates like boiling water.

Without thinking, he yanks apart the sink strainer and plunges his fingers into the now bubbling hole. His index makes contact with something smooth and slimy. But when he attempts to grasp the object, it slips and disappears.

He tries again.

And again.

On the third try, his fingers grip onto something thick and coarse. In one forceful tug, he extracts a clump of long brown matted hair from the gurgling hole.

"What the fuck?"

The sink drains and the rippling sound ceases.

For an unusual amount of time, he stares at his find. Puzzlement may be an understatement, yet a part of him is unsettled. He is no scientist, but instinct tells him the hair has been stuck there for quite some time.

From the corner of his vision, the trees cast spindly shadows that merges grotesquely into the hallways. He does not catch the outlier, a smaller human silhouette that is standing beside the amalgamated shadows.

Instead, his attention arrests to the sounds of soft padding footsteps that emerges from the end of the lodge.

Past the hallway and towards the source of footsteps, the small silhouette is gone. But Kuroo does not take notice. The sound recedes further, and when he passes Daichi and Michimiya's room, he can hear their sensual moaning.

_Yeah, fuck you Daichi._

He is not envious at all-

-Is what he likes to think.

Perhaps the one thing he misses about a relationship is the steady stream of gratification he gets now and then?

The fading footsteps is what keeps his conscious piqued. No one should be accessing this area aside from Daichi and Michimiya.

He keeps pace with the retreating noise, until he eventually hits the corridor's extremity and the footsteps hover somewhere past the timber panelling. His fingers run the surface of the very blank wall, yet nothing warrants further investigation.

Perhaps he is hearing things?

On his return to the kitchen, Kaisawa is already standing by the same window, as if she has never vacated from her position.

"You're back again," he says surprisingly. 

She turns to him in that same dallying manner.

"Why are you awake?" she asks quietly.

He frowns.

"That's also my line."

For a brief moment, there is a look of petrification that suffuses her watch. But when she closes the distance between them, he wonders whether it was his imagination.

She gives a soft smile that sends him into a spiral of perturbing deja vu.

"Let me walk you to bed, okay? It is very late."

When she takes his hand, he automatically flinches at the coldness. There is another aspect that singes his skin, and it is not the temperature.

Astonished, he allows her to guide him to his room.

"Shouldn't I be doing this to you first? I feel a bit strange when a woman is walking me to my sleeping quarter."

"Oh no, it is fine. Please have a goodnight."

Her tone has a firm edge to it, as if her orders are final.

And not until he is settled between the sheets and tuning his mind from Sugawara's deep breathing does he realise it - Kaisawa disappeared in the opposite direction to her room.


	12. Mellow

Ten hours pass in a spur of disoriented memories that are neither gratifying nor dissatisfactory. It may be the protracted effects of alcohol or the puzzling state of his conscious, but there are indistinct gaps his mind cannot recall. 

"Sawchi, have you seen my hairbrush?"

Her voice flows from the hallway and ends with strands of bemusement.

"Sorry, Yui, I haven't," Daichi answers.

Michimiya approaches and stares speculatively between her belongings and the mass of bedsheets sprawled across the floor.

"That's strange. I went to check the bathroom as well. Nothing there. I don't remember removing it from our room either."

In the earlier hours of the morning, they briefly planned a twenty kilometre hike across the mountainside to a heritage listed village. The map dictates an even walk, with some moderate ascents across three different paths. Despite Tsukishima's reproachful attitude, he eventually relented when Yamaguchi pointed to the presence of a village museum.

By mid-morning, the group is still clambering over what to bring and which path to take.

On Daichi's end, he is figuring out why his phone did not charge the previous night.

"Maybe you were using it whilst walking around the house," Daichi replies absently.

He gazes suspiciously at the phone, then re-plugs it into the wall socket. It beeps and the charging starts.

"But I charged this yesterday," he groans, "Yui, did your phone charge?"

"Mine did, maybe your phone is broken?"

"But I checked last night and it was charging. It was seventy-percent the last I saw it, so even if it stopped charging right after, I should still have enough batteries. It's completely drained."

He frowns but decides to drop the investigation.

When they depart for the living area, the altercation between Kageyama and Hinata is irrefutably profound. He sees the backs of Kuroo, Tsukishima, Yachi and Kaisawa, who are all observing the situation with increasing incredulity.

Between the wide front doors and the foyer, Kageyama is holding two deflated volleyballs in one arm and forcibly resisting Yamaguchi's hold on his other. Two metres away, Hinata is withholding the conspicuous urge to launch an offensive.

"For the last time, why would I even do that?" Hinata yells.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Daichi says sharply.

"Good question," Kageyama replies angrily, "I just spent another hour or so this morning re-inflating these balls. I put them in the room, came back about five minutes later, and this shithead walked out the room. What did I see? Both of these balls fully deflated again."

Hinata lets out a long exasperated groan.

"Quit with the accusations. Why would I even waste my time doing something like that?"

"Because you were probably pissed that I won the firewood game yesterday. You're clearly getting revenge or something."

"Are you fucked in the head?" Hinata shouts, "Are you even listening to yourself? You seriously think I'd do something as petty as that?"

Over in the corner, Yachi is visibly holding back a spate of distressing tears.

"Oh...I'm-I'm sure there is a misunderstanding," she says tentatively.

"Stay out of it why don't you?" Kageyama snarls, and Yachi recoils in fright.

"Don't you dare speak to her like that," Tsukishima snaps.

He scowls dangerously at Kageyama.

In one swift motion, Daichi steps between the group.

"Okay, that's enough," he says firmly, "Kageyama, judging from the state of those volleyballs, they look completely flattened. I think they would take more than five minutes to get to that state. And Hinata, there is no need to shout. Both of you go cool off. We didn't come all the way here to fight. Everyone please meet back here in ten minutes ready to go."

He gives a resolute glare, then gestures for their disbandment.

Without a word, they all disperse.

"You okay?"

Michimiya surveys him with heightened consternation, but does not probe until he responds to her query.

"Yeah, I'm just baffled as to why all this is happening. Good grief, you'd think they would settle now that they're adults."

For the life of him, he cannot fathom the level of puerility at play. Perhaps he is overestimating the notion of maturity? Even as adults, the concept of emotional regulation is still a learning process for some. Logic may have its part, but at what point do emotions cross the rational boundary?

Though Kageyama is renowned for his absurd way of thinking, there may be underlying reasons for his overreaction. Intuition wagers on a more obscure motive that pertains specifically to Hinata, yet Daichi's rationale speaks in a manner that often preclude feelings and emotions. Confusing as his thoughts are, there is an instinctive fragment that denotes a more disconcerting basis to today's commotion - the external environment.

"That's quite a presumptuous statement. I don't think being an adult would necessarily mellow out immaturity," Michimiya says.

She steps in and embraces him.

"Don't worry about them, they'll work it out," she continues, "plus, you're too cute to be frowning like this."

He softens.

"You always make things better," he grins, "I said meet back here in ten minutes right? I think we've got time."

At the comment, there are thickened lines of red that infiltrates her cheeks.

"Sawchi! No!"

He gives a short sarcastic laugh.

"I'm only joking!"

x

When they gather by the front entrance, there is one person missing.

"Wait, where's Sugawara?"

He scans the foyer and the areas between the living and dining zones.

"Just head out first, I'll look for him," Daichi continues.

He waves airily and disappears for the sleeping quarters.

Sugawara and Kuroo's room is situated at the front extremity of the lodge. There is a gentle downward slope that begins halfway through the walkway, and ends at the edge of their bedroom door. Daichi is yet to explore this end of the house. The farthest he made was Kageyama, Hinata and Yamaguchi's room, which is positioned about five metres back.

By the ajar door, there is a lingering heaviness that assembles uncomfortably against his chest. The air is peculiarly dense, as if the stifling atmosphere is permeated by a physical substance that can be picked from the vast space. 

He hears a soft droning sound that vibrates his insides and stirs his vision.

_Damn, my head._

He flattens a palm to his forehead and presses with mounting pressure. The sound ceases and his mind readjusts.

"Sugawara, are you in there?" he murmurs. 

The sound returns, but this time, it is accompanied by rapid whispering.

It grows louder, yet the words are incomprehensible.

Silence.

Then, someone is speaking from behind the door.

"...yeah of course, I'll definitely keep that in mind, you will do that won't you? That way..."

The voice is familiar.

When he opens the door, Sugawara is sitting crosslegged on the floor and staring animatedly at something Daichi cannot see.

"Sugawara!" 

"Oh, Daichi! Are we ready to go?"

He springs from the ground and speaks as if they are having a normal conversation.

Without answering, Daichi steps past and assimilates the empty room.

"Who were you talking to?"

Sugawara frowns. He is looking genuinely confused.

"What do you mean?"

"You were talking to someone?"

Sugawara gives a bewildered expression.

"Are you okay, Daichi?"

"I heard you talking to someone," he answers bluntly. 

Sugawara steps back and glances at the room, then back over at Daichi as if he is making a non-verbal point.

"I'm not sure what you mean, but maybe we should get going."

He pats Daichi on the shoulder by way of reassurance, then disappears down the hall.

One brief glance around the room and his suspicions are diminished. Perhaps he is imagining things? Regardless, he decides to give Sugawara the benefit of the doubt and dismiss the evasive-like behaviour.

For now.


	13. Solution

The trek costs them two hours of the early afternoon, courtesy of the arduous ascent a quarter way through. The map greatly overestimated the capability of beginner hikers, so the definition of 'moderate ascent' is wholly redundant.

But as reward, they are treated to the beautiful sights of a small town. Classic, heritage and astoundingly atypical, the village exudes an antiquated aura of eighteenth century Japan. Between two large deepened valleys, the area is nestled on the perimeters of a vast snowcapped forest that overlooks the panoramic highlands. Though densely concealed, the town is bustling with residents and tourists.

“It’s kinda nice to be back in civilisation,” Yamaguchi says.

He extracts a small camera from his backpack and eagerly fiddles with the settings.

“Are you an old man?” Tsukishima says, “Just use your phone.”

“No way. Phones are nowhere near as great as cameras. Besides, I recently took up photography as a hobby, so now is the perfect time to try this baby out.”

He gives the camera a little affectionate tap, then returns to the settings.

“I do want to check out the souvenir shop,” Michimiya says.

“Maybe we should just split up and meet back here in a couple hours?” Daichi suggests.

They agree, so Michimiya and Kaisawa disappear for the shops, whilst Daichi, Sugawara and Kuroo opt for the shrines and village monuments. Meanwhile, Kageyama and Hinata diverge solo in opposing directions.

“You wanted to visit the museum, right Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asks.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Tsukishima answers, “Hitoka what did you want to do?”

For a transient moment, there is a chilling sensation that crawls beneath Yachi's skin and settles at the centre of her back. It is the same coldness she experienced the previous day, although the intensity is notably mild.

The episode momentarily distracts her, until Tsukishima taps her shoulder and repeats the question with vehement.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, I am happy with the museum,” she answers.

His responding expression is dubious, as if he is suspicious of her nonchalant reply. Eventually, he relents and turns to Yamaguchi.

“You coming with us?” he asks.

“You two go first and I’ll join you later. I want to try this camera for a bit.”

He waves enthusiastically and disappears into the swarming crowd.

“It’s just us then,” Yachi says cheerfully.

She takes Tsukishima’s hand, and together they wander the streets to the village museum

x

One month since their relationship, compartmentalising optimism and negativity has been an onerous feat that runs exclusively on adrenaline. She challenges her thoughts, and ignores the protests, but sporadically, that dreaded feeling of unease leaks through like an insidious poison. It does not play into her muse, rather, it intrudes her subconscious and manipulates with precision. Part of her clambers to detach from its grasp, and though she is acutely aware of the imminent danger, she will inevitably lose herself if she pushes too far. It is a fine balancing act, one she must tread lightly.

And if not for Tsukishima’s presence, perhaps she would have chosen to lose herself in that dark void long ago.

“There’s the museum,” Yachi points to a traditional wooden structure that juts from a mass of tightly packed buildings.

They purchase the tickets and are told to rendezvous in thirty minutes for their allotted time. So without further ado, they return to the outdoors and explore the snow.

“Kei, do you want to build a snowman?”

Her comment evokes a frown from Tsukshima, who does not appear particularly interested.

But his face lightens at the avid look on Yachi’s face.

“Yeah, sure why not,” he sighs.

Small as she is, Yachi takes on the monumental task of constructing a relatively fat snowman with unusual proportions. She spends time perfecting the bottom segment, but leaves a protruding mess between the next two layers.

“Oh no, now it looks like he’s got a swollen lump on his throat,” she says sadly.

“I think we can fix that,” Tsukishima says.

To Yachi’s delight, he removes his scarf and wraps it around the snowman’s neck.

They spend the next ten minutes gathering pieces for the snowman’s features. Branches for the arms, bark for the nose, and pebbles for the eyes and buttons.

“Hold on,” Yachi frets, “The pebbles are not staying for the eyes. I think the snow isn’t thick enough here.”

She is momentarily silent. Then, the idea strikes her.

“Kei, can I borrow these for a minute?”

She approaches and takes his glasses.

“How am I supposed to see?” Tsukishima says.

His tone is reproachful with elements of intrigue.

Yachi gestures insouciantly, then completes the snowman by placing her beanie on its head and sticking Tsukishima’s glasses in compensation for the eyes.

“It’ll be quick…oh wow! He looks so cute. Kei! Look!”

Joviality may be an understatement, but Yachi is finding it difficult to contain her enthusiasm.

“Yeah, it looks pretty good,” Tsukishima agrees.

In the ensuing excitement, she launches in for a victorious embrace.

“Kei, we did it! We did it!”

Tsukishima does not anticipate the action. He briefly catches her hold, but falls short at the sudden domineering momentum. In one swift movement, they both tumble into the snow.

“Sorry! I got overexcited,” she squeals.

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he answers.

“But we did it! I’m so happy. We made a snowman together.”

She gazes gleefully at the sculpture, then returns her watch to Tsukishima, who is half lying on the ground with a bemused expression.

Without thinking and without acknowledging the inexplicable feelings that proceeds, she climbs over and sits on top of him.

There is a strange quietude that hovers between puzzlement and awkwardness. Yachi is uncertain of her action, but there is a disturbing component that enjoys the penetrating discomfit. Whether it be related to the confounded look on Tsukishima’s face, or the combined deed of their situation, there is a radiating level of audaciousness that is rising between the crevices of her anxiety.

“Hitoka?”

Tsukishima is watching steadily, yet his voice hold traces of abashment she finds disheartening.

“I should share my scarf with you, since you gave yours to Mr. Snowman,” she says softly.

Then, she leans in and wraps half her scarf around his neck. Even at the extreme proximity, Yachi does not heed the change in reaction on Tsukishima’s end. She keeps focus on a point over his shoulder, until he nudges her arm and her gaze redirects to his.

“I can’t seem to recall the last time I was this close to you,” she whispers.

He gives her an expression that indicates passive disappointment, albeit there are traces of other inscrutable emotions she cannot discern.

“I don’t expect you to,” he says.

At his comment, she can feel the heightened temperature, and the erratic beats of his heart. Or is that hers?

“I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

Her lips press to his in gentle sways. Tentative, hollow, and heavily infused with desire.

But his response is incongruent with the state of his anomalous breathing. His body is rigid with intensifying uncertainty, as if his soul is separated from his physical. Perhaps he did not anticipate the valiant move?

They rarely kiss. Twice to be exact, including this time. Yachi takes accountability for the lack of intimacy and the fragility of their relationship. Fear is what keeps affection unpredictable and need is what drives those brazen actions. But it is ultimately her inconsistent behaviour that undermines their partnership.

She does not blame him for being resistant, or uncertain. The explanation may be covert, but apprehension has a way of embedding itself in places that are pivotal to her existence. She is afraid - of not giving him what he deserves, of hurting him and of failing him.

In the past twenty-four hours, her ability to suppress audaciousness is weakening. For what reason, she does not know. But the disturbing thoughts invade and her body is recklessly responding to the escalating degree of inappropriate need.

As if her mind is attuned to that sudden level of immodesty, she instantly detaches from Tsukishima.

“I’m sorry!” She squeaks.

There is now a parade of red that infiltrates the surface of her face.

“It-It’s fine,” Tsukishima replies.

His tone is wary, as if he is unsure of her change in demeanour.

“I made things uncomfortable,” she says.

He sits up and faces her.

“No I don’t mind it…sorry if I made you feel that way…I just-”

Without completing his sentence, he leans in and kisses her.

The move is unexpected. And though Yachi’s mind is yet to process the action, her body is already responding with subtle zeal.

Hesitancy may occupy her conscious but her physical is resistant. She does not comprehend the discordancy, nor the deepening need that competes with her fear. The deluge of conflicting sensations is what keeps her anxiety assertive. Even as she fights and counters, there is an entire force that compels her to withstand, and to relish in that disorientating pleasure.

She takes his face and shuffles closer, until her body is pinned to him and they are falling against the snow in one angle.

His kiss is reminiscent of a summer breeze. Heated yet revitalising. It galvanises her with a brashness that ends in a brigade of incredulity. And hesitant as she is, Tsukishima allows her to lead.

When she briefly parts from him, her grip moves to his shoulders and she is pressing heavily into him. Without anticipation, and if afraid he may withdraw amidst the hesitancy, her mouth collides with his for the third time.

Her thoughts are disapproving of such actions, but she cannot urge her body to stall. It is the intensifying level of desire that controls her, and when she coaxes him to part his mouth, she can taste the warmth of his sweetness.

In response, his breathing hitches and his fingers dig painfully into her waist. Yachi does not relent. Her mind has merged with the amplifying rapture that palliates the discomfort - physically and emotionally.

If anything, she wishes to be alone with him, away from the liveliness and in a world where it is just them. But wishful thinking saddens her, and when Tsukishima softens the contact in anticipation of parting, she lets out a dispirited whimper that gets him frowning.

“Are you alright?” He breathes.

She nods.

“I want to keep going,” she whispers tentatively.

She speaks her mind as if it is natural. An action that is completely out of character. She does not know why she is voicing her thoughts, but there seems to be an unpleasant heaviness that compels her.

Tsukishima is watching closely, as if he is finding it difficult to conclude her state of mind.

“It’s not like you to say that,” he answers quietly.

Her fleeting irritation may be furtive, but Tsukishima is incredibly perceptive. She is sure he is questioning her expression.

“I’m trying,” she says faintly.

There is passive displeasure to her tone that is easily mistaken for apprehension. Anxiety plays a role, but that discomforting heaviness impedes and manifests her emotions in a swirl of vexation.

“I’m sorry,” he answers.

She shakes her head.

“No, no, I should apologise, I didn’t mean for it to come out in a negative way…I think it might be my tone of voice, it’s something like that. Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Her conscious morphs into unsettlement, and it is now the anxiety that dictates the control centre.

At her comment, Tsukishima softens, as if relieved to see a more normal side of her.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to apologise. As you said, it’s probably just a misunderstanding.”

She gives a small smile, then collapses against their masterpiece.

“Hitoka-“

Five seconds in and her entire body is shrouded beneath a dismantled snowman.

“Ouch!”

“Hey! Are you alright?”

Tsukishima approaches and brushes the snow from her head.

“I’m f-fine,” she flusters.

“Your hand...” he says uneasily.

She tracks his gaze to the back of her bleeding hand.

“Oh it’s just a small cut."

“Let me see it.”

“It’s okay, I can fix it up.”

“No, let me see it,” he says firmly.

And when he reaches for her, she flinches violently.

The atmosphere suddenly tenses and the surrounding aura darkens.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t!” Yachi cries.

Her tone is laden with a distressing level of trepidation. Automatically, she raises her arms and cowers in fear. Then comes the suffocation, the constriction that intrudes her chest and the rising paranoia that encroaches her movements.

“Hitoka…”

He speaks with severe anguish, as if her response hurts him.

The silence impinges, until her breathing evens and the tears cease.

“I’m so sorry,” she says shakily.

Tsukishima is momentarily quiet, but when he replies, it is filled with heart wrenching grief.

“You know I will never do anything to hurt you.”

His voice is barely above a whisper.

“I know, I’m sorry…so sorry…”

Her speech trails into nothingness. That blank conscious serves to protect her mind. It is a survival mechanism she has come to detest, an element that increasingly widens the gap between her and Tsukishima.

“It’s alright. Maybe we should get to the museum if you are okay?”

His question is resolute, as if there is only one correct answer.

When Yachi gives a brief gesture that indicates agreement, Tsukishima stands and patiently waits for her.

She cannot identify the team of inexplicable emotions that parades his face. Instinct gives her insight into the rancorous energy that radiates from him, yet she senses another form of dejected emotions that skims the surface of his presence.

She is desperate for a solution, a way that gives their relationship that respite it so needs. But the more she tries, the worse it becomes.

Perhaps they are destined to fail?


	14. Discuss

Exhaustion is an understatement. It speaks to them in ways that fogs their minds and mars their physical.

Up the fifty metre ascent, past the blackened gates and through the widen front doors, they collapse beside each other in bemusing silence.

It is not fatigue that extends the quietude. There is a faint droning sound that originates from somewhere near the hallway. It radiates an odd sensation that is akin to a low-pitch vibration. They hear it, but it is not enough to warrant further suspicion.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Kageyama stands by the living space and stares between the scattered volleyballs. They are all deflated.

Hinata lets out an indignant scoff that indicates his continual dissatisfaction with Kageyama.

“Yeah, and somehow I must have teleported back here and deflated the rest of those volleyballs,” he says sarcastically.

Kageyama does not respond. There are subtle lines of contrite that pervades his vexatious expression, and when he disappears for the room, Hinata is looking visibly perturb.

The group disperses for their long deserved rest, with the exception of Tsukishima, Yachi and Yamaguchi, who are tasked to complete the meals.

For Michimiya, she is taking her load of souvenirs and heaving them to the bedroom for further perusing.

On arrival, she does not take notice of the slight misalignment in furniture, nor the scattered pieces of her belongings between the luggages. The souvenirs take priority, so for the next fifteen minutes, she spends time sorting and wrapping them for storage.

The uncanny energy does not impinge until she is re-arranging her bags. When she pulls out the first few articles of clothing, the dead flies scatter like rain. She counts about three.

Perhaps they entered before she got here? The affected items were in storage previously.

Even at the overwhelming evidence that points otherwise, she still dismisses the nagging instinct of other more outlandish reasoning.

Without further thought, she continues the re-arranging.

Sometime later, her hand brushes a solid object that is lodged between the edges of the luggage. For several moments, she fights to loosen it, until she is yanking unusually hard and extracts the missing hairbrush from earlier today. Although intact, the handle is smudged with a thick blackish ink that radiates a sickeningly sweet smell. On the reverse side, there is a mass of long matted dark hair entangled between the frayed bristles. When she runs a finger through it, a sticky black tar like substance identical to the one on the handle, has latched itself to the surface of her skin.

Curiosity compels her in a trance, and she stares at the object with increasing disbelief. She is vaguely aware of Daichi’s approaching footsteps, and his light touch across her hair as he walks by. 

“Sawchi,” she says dazedly, “do you think one of the others used my hairbrush?”

No answer.

“Sawchi?”

She hears heavy footsteps from the hallway. Then, Daichi appears at the door.

“Yui, I was looking for you. For some reason I thought you were with Kaisawa. Never mind.”

“Huh?”

Her tone conveys a discountenance that unsettles the air.

Startled at his presence, Michimiya momentarily freezes. Then, she turns and assimilates the empty space around her.

“You weren’t walking around the room just then?”

Daichi is looking troubled.

“No…” he answers slowly, “I was out here this whole time. Is everything okay, Yui?”

“I-“

_But you didn’t actually see him did you? You just thought it was him._

Perhaps she imagined it all?

“Yui?”

Daichi approaches and kneels before her.

She keeps the consternation suppressed. There is no point ruminating on farfetched matters.

“Oh fine, everything is fine. I think I’m just tired from today that’s all,” she answers airily.

Although sceptical, Daichi accepts her response with no more than a mere nod.

x

“Thank you for the dinner, this was great,” Sugawara says.

They are gathered together by the dining area, satiated and content. There is minimal conversation tonight, partly as a repercussion of fatigue and compounded by the tranquillising effects of alcohol.

“I’m going to give Yachi most of the credit. It’s her recipe after all,” Yamaguchi grins.

Her response is an unsurprising wave of embarrassment.

“Oh, but you and Kei prepared the ingredients perfectly. That really helps make the recipe right,” Yachi answers sheepishly.

They discuss their day amidst the warming cheer. Daichi, Sugawara and Kuroo explain their ancient shrine adventure, an area only accessible via a precarious descent. They were the only ones amid two other groups of tourists that made it all the way down. Most ceased halfway.

“Sugawara was struggling just that tad bit,” Daichi says, “but we made sure to keep him in line.”

Sugawara gives a restive wave.

“I’m not as fit comparatively to you and Kuroo. How on earth am I going to compete with a cop and a gym fanatic?”

“I only recently started with the gym. Turns out you lose a lot of muscle tone when you stop playing sports,” Kuroo sighs.

Michimiya discusses her shopping experience with Kaisawa, and the enormous amount of souvenirs she brought back. She does not remember the last time she spent money on herself. As much as she enjoys the thrill that comes with shopping, gift giving is what gets her motivated.

Kageyama and Hinata do not speak much of their solo journey. The tension is still rife between the two, yet Michimiya senses a slight reduction in irritation on Kageyama’s end.

“How was the museum?” Yamaguchi asks, “I’m sorry I was supposed to join you two but I got a bit carried away with the camera.”

At the comment, Kuroo slaps a reassuring hand on Yamaguchi’s back.

“Good one my man. Being a third wheel sucks.”

“It was interesting,” Yachi says, “lots of history. Although I wanted to know a little more about this place here, considering how close it is to that heritage village. They covered a lot of little towns and other areas, but not this place. It wasn’t even on their map.”

Tsukishima is looking contemplative, but does not add to Yachi’s comment.

They keep their drinks going, until Hinata is reaching for another beer and Kageyama hands it to him without looking. There is a vague awareness of said action amongst the table, but many do not overtly acknowledge for fear of disrupting the brittle tension.

Meanwhile, Yamaguchi is taking out his camera and snapping photos of unwitting drinkers.

“Lets have a group picture,” he says brightly, “this camera has a timer so we can all be in it.”

They agree, until Yamaguchi insists on multiple rounds and Tsukishima is looking thoroughly irritated.

“There are only so many flashes my eyes can tolerate,” he says testily.

On the opposite side of the table, there is a chain of yawning that denotes an end to the night.

“Wow it’s getting quite late already,” Daichi says, “here’s hoping for another good night’s sleep.”

In response, Kuroo lets out a sarcastic snort.

“Yeah? If you’re getting another round tonight, that will guarantee you a good night’s sleep,” he smirks.

Daichi is looking confused.

“You two might want to keep it down a little bit,” Kuroo continues.

“Huh?”

Michimiya’s voice is timid with mortification. The severe flush has now permeated every layer of her skin.

At the realisation, Daichi is looking equally flustered.

“Oh...right,” he mumbles.

Kuroo gestures indifferently.

“Dry spell over here. Some of us just miss it.”

He gives a short laugh.

“Yeah, that’s because men have dicks for brains,” Kaisawa scoffs.

The agitation mounts again, but this time, it is a one-sided aura that is directed at Kuroo.

“You know, it’d be nice if you didn’t snap at everything I say,” Kuroo says, “you were a lot nicer when I spoke to you in the middle of last night.”

It may be the wrong thing to say, but Kaisawa’s expression is unusually stoic, as if she is holding back a brigade of austere emotions.

“You’re a piece of shit,” she says coldly.

Kuroo frowns.

“For such a pretty girl, you sure have a filthy mouth.”

“Fuck off,” she shrieks.

“Hikari!” Michimiya intervenes.

This is the first time she sees Kaisawa in this state. They may have been classmates in high school, but their friendship never extended past acquaintances - until early last year when they reunited at a small informal reunion.

Kaisawa has always been a mixed bag. Her usual sweet demeanour is what most people associate her with on first encounter. But that is only applicable to women. Though their friendship has grown over the past year, there are still many aspects to Kaisawa that Michimiya finds puzzling. And the more she digs past those intricate layers, the more complex they become.

Kuroo is the first person that seems to test Kaisawa’s patience. She is normally detached and vigilant of men, but is nevertheless polite towards them.

She wonders what significance Kuroo brings that triggers Kaisawa into discomposure?

“Ah, why don’t we have one more drink and then finish up for the night?” Michimiya continues tentatively, “that way it’ll be a nice wrap up.”

Without further comment, the group falls quiet. The agitated atmosphere sits heavy, but several moments of silence inevitably breaks the suffocating air.

“Right, I might pass on that and chill in the room. I think I drank too much already,” Hinata says.


	15. Logic

The droning sound occurs in varying intervals. Two seconds. Quiet. Six seconds. Quiet. There is no rhyme or reason, yet its ubiquitous presence is what rouses him.

He is alone again, with that accompanying rotten stench he finds nauseating. It may be the compounding effects of alcohol, but his mind is unusually reactive for the amount consumed. Perhaps his level of tolerance is improving? Regardless, he is highly content with the quietude, and the brief respite he gets from the rowdiness.

For ten long minutes, he lies there with his arm pressed firmly across his eyes. No visual images. No people. Just him, and that incessant droning sound. The stench is replaced by the reek of alcohol that exudes from his breathing. And for reasons he cannot fathom, he finds satisfaction inhaling that intoxicating smell.

His room is too far from the dining area, so the clinking of beers and the unruly conversations are muted.

The stillness stretches, until he hears approaching footsteps and the opening of the door. Kageyama and Yamaguchi are back. They keep the lights off, perhaps as a gesture of courtesy to Hinata’s sleeping outline.

He hears shuffling, followed by movement to his right as Kageyama settles himself into his futon.

Silence.

Then, the sound of rolling marbles across the hardened floors. Two marbles. Three.

Hinata keeps still, yet a wave of discordancy unsettles him. The sound is eerily familiar, as if he has memorised it from somewhere long ago. It does not perturb him until the noise manifests physically and they are rolling gently along his arm. He feels them, their small rounded shape and their piercing coolness that are parked against his skin.

“Oi! Kageyama! What the hell are you doing?”

He sits up and stares blankly across the empty darkness. In the opposite corner, the door is firmly closed. No sign of Kageyama or Yamaguchi.

Beside him, there are three small green-blue coloured marbles placed innocuously against each other. Without thinking, he thoroughly peruses them beneath the windows.

_Where did these come from?_

They are all identical in colour, give or take a shade. And when he holds the largest one against the moonlight, a blackish substance leaks from one side.

He does not register the pain until the liquid is dripping and bubbling against his skin. Horrified, he releases the marbles in a startling motion and watches them scatter in multiple directions. Eventually, the largest sphere rolls back across the floor and halts before him.

For a long time, he stares unwaveringly at the motionless object. Logic does not indicate the presence of abnormality. But instinct alludes to something more ominous. Whether Hinata is still heavily intoxicated, or simply exhausted from today’s ordeal, he cannot interpret the diverging emotions. He likens the situation to something entirely separate but connected at the same time, as if the feeling has its own shadowy counterpart.

When he leans in for the marble, it reverts back and rolls away from him. Curiosity compels his proceeding actions, and he follows the sphere to the adjacent corner.

Beneath the marble is a small piece of wrinkled paper with three words.

_“Come find me.”_

And the marble rolls again. He follows it across the room, past the door and in front of the sliding wardrobe. Beneath the marble is another paper with two words.

_“In here.”_

As he kneels before the closet and slides the door across, he does not anticipate the putrid smell of something rotten. It lasts about three seconds, then dissipates as quickly as it appeared.

In past the window, the silvery beam of moon sends a weakened illumination. But it is enough for him to observe the wardrobe contents. Nothing but spare beddings and pillows.

When he slides the door closed, there is already someone sitting beside him. From his side vision, he sees the small frame, the long hair, the sundress and the straw hat.

In that instant, the air turns disturbingly cold. There is a grotesque aura that emits from the stranger beside him, and though it flits past his skin, he can feel the petrifying sensation internally.

“Hinata.”

The girl speaks, but not in a tone he would normally associate with young children. There is a bizarre pitch to her voice, as if she is an adult speaking childishly.

When she takes his hand, the disgusting sensation pervades and sinks through his marrow. He does not look at her for fear his imagination may alter his perception of reality.

“Hinata.”

She speaks again, and this time, he averts to her touch on him.

Beneath the minimal light, he sees a long pasty white arm stretched across the space between them. Her equally ashen hand is small and dishevelled with numerous stitch marks across her knuckles. The hold she has on him is surprisingly light, until his body is startled and he attempts to withdraw. At the action, she tightens her grasp with monumental force, then drags his hand to her face.

“Hinata. Look what they did to me.”

For several seconds, he stares wildly at her pale decaying face. He takes little notice of the numerous equivocal cuts that lines her jaws and chin. Across both eyes, there is a multitude of repulsive stitches that have sewn them shut. And beneath the decomposing nose, he sees an enormous gaping hole where her mouth should be.

Terrified, he falls back against the wall and lets out a paralysing wail that reverberates through the walls and out across the hallways.

In less than three seconds, the door swings open and the lights are on.

Kageyama, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Kuroo, Daichi and Sugawara are standing before him, panic-stricken and stunned at the scene before them.

Their sudden presence sends an urgent wave of relief, and without speaking, Hinata hurls himself forward and throws the entire contents of his stomach.

“Hinata, are you alright? We heard screaming-” Daichi says.

“What the hell happened?” Kageyama interjects.

“What's going on?” Kuroo adds.

“Wait, give him some space.”

Sugawara’s voice floats through, and within seconds, the group is quiet.

When Hinata reccaliberates, he stares uneasily across the room. No girl. No marbles. No papers. No black substance on his fingers.

Was he imagining it all?

He keeps his mind in the rational space, but the fear is so incredibly flagrant, he cannot comprehend the entirety of the situation.

“I…I’m fine. Just drank too much, passed out and had a bad dream.”

He waves insouciantly at the group.

“Idiot, I told you not to try and compete with me,” Kageyama says, “Your level of tolerance is much lower than mine. How many times do I have to tell you that? We are both built differently, there are things you can’t compete with and-“

“Shut up, Kageyama, as if I am competing with you on this,” he interrupts exasperatedly.

A lie. And he knows it. He is not in the state to speak, let alone argue with Kageyama.

“Alright, lets just get you cleaned up okay?” Daichi says, “Then we can let you sleep and rest up.”

“No,” Hinata says quickly, “I don’t think I want to sleep right now.”

The group exchange significant glances.

“Alright, well lets get you cleaned up first then okay?”

He nods weakly.

Together, Daichi and Kageyama carry Hinata to the bathroom, whilst Sugawara and (very reluctantly) Yamaguchi offer to clean up. Meanwhile, Tsukishima disappears to locate Yachi for anti-nausea tablets.

“I’ll get some water,” Kuroo says.

x

On return, the boys are gathered in the one room for a brief conversation.

Hinata’s mind is sitting somewhere between reality and a blackened void. He is oddly sedated. Perhaps it is the tranquillising effects of the anti-nausea tablets? Regardless, the longer he sits in this very nightmare laden room, the more surreal his situation becomes.

He is vaguely aware of the ambiguous discussion that surrounds his space, albeit his conscious does not dare venture into anything that concerns reality. He does not trust his memories, yet there is an escalating level of apprehension that resides somewhere in his stomach.

Perhaps it is better to lock the distressing thoughts away and keep pragmatism at the forefront? But if the events of tonight does not collude with fantasy, then logic will inevitably hit a dead end.


	16. Understand

“I don’t get women.”

They sit amongst each other and reminisce the night's event. Their surrounding is the largest sleeping quarter, but seven boys packed in simultaneously is bound to significantly reduce personal space.

He slumps by the corner and stares vacantly at the procession of timber panelling. His mind is distinct in its comprehension of said words, but there is a widening hole that draws the accompanying emotions from his conscious. The result is an inscrutable expression, paired with the blankness of his speech.

He blames Kaisawa and the ever fluctuating mood that accompanies her presence. For the two hours that have past since Kuroo has seen her, there is a discomforting ball of frustration that ruminates excessively from the back of his conscious. He thinks of her altering demeanour and how he is unable to disconnect himself from her hostility.

“We are men, I don’t think we are meant to understand women,” Daichi sighs.

Fifteen minutes past Hinata’s ordeal, they keep the conversation moving and the topic diverged from the chaotic scenery.

Hinata has not spoken a word since his return from the bathroom, so on request from Sugawara, the group willingly relocate their discussion to Hinata, Kageyama and Yamaguchi’s bedroom.

“That’s an interesting statement, coming from someone who has the longest relationship with a woman,” Sugawara says.

Kuroo snorts.

“Right? You would think. So old chum, what makes you think you still don’t get women?”

Daichi gives a resigned gesture.

“I’m not going to label myself as a woman expert, no matter how long I have been in a relationship with one. Besides, it’s not like _you_ have zero experience with them.”

At the comment, Kuroo keeps the protest restrained. Two long term relationships, together with an umpteenth amount of dates, and he still cannot work out the minds of his counterparts.

“You know what, I have to concur with you. I think it’s going to be a lifelong journey. Maybe it’s something we would never find out until the day we die. Suddenly it’ll be a lightbulb moment on our death beds,” he points to the ceiling, “and it’ll be, ‘oh so that’s what she meant,’ or something like that.”

The group gives a light laugh.

“It all comes with time and experience I suppose. I mean, everyone is different, so we can’t always group women into one box,” Daichi says.

There is a brief contemplative silence.

“I kinda disagree to an extent,” Kuroo replies and Daichi is looking mildly confused.

“You may be right when you look at the contrasting personalities between Kaisawa, Michimiya and Yachi for example," Kuroo explains, "but have you notice how giggly they get when they see a stuffed toy?”

He widens his expression and makes an accurate depiction of an excitable little girl.

“Ahhhh….look at how cute it is!”

He heightens his tone and speaks in a pitched voice.

“Or when they sit so close together and whisper in each other’s ears,” Hinata adds, “I’m wondering what they are always talking about. And they seem to do that in front of us guys too.”

The group laughs again.

“You’d think it would be a high school kind of thing, but it just escalates from there,” Kuroo sighs.

On Daichi’s end, there is a look of speculation that submerges his features. He is thinking hard, perhaps in a manner that would refute the above statements. But eventually, his face contorts into defeat.

“You do have a point there. Sometimes I would ask Yui if she is okay with something. She would outrightly say yes, and when I proceed, she goes all moody and tells me I don’t understand her.”

In response, Kuroo, Sugawara and Tsukishima let out a chorus of suppressed laughter.

“You nailed it, old chum,” Kuroo says, “I told you it’s specifically a woman thing. Why do they do that?”

“Maybe it’s because they are testing us to see how much we care? But at the end of the day, we aren’t mind readers,” Sugawara says.

The group agrees in amusing silence.

“It makes us sound so bad how much we don’t understand them. I mean, I’m surprised men have been able to keep women content at all,” Yamaguchi says perplexingly.

Kuroo gives a reassuring tap on Yamaguchi’s back.

“Women can be quite easy to read when it comes to certain things, but that is solely dependent on how much you are in control of your own selfishness.”

His tone denotes a multitude of meaning, many of which lie inconspicuously within the comment.

Daichi is the only one who appears to comprehend the underlaying implications of the words. He sends Kuroo a short smile that is heavily complacent.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Hinata says.

“Since when do you ever not?” Tsukishima smirks.

Kuroo waves impatiently.

“Alright hold on a second. Here’s an intrusive yet important question that would stay amongst us,” he stares firmly around the room as a non-verbal indicator for compliance, “Anyone here still have their V card?”

The slicing quietude is evident. There is a slight flurry of movement somewhere to his right, but Kuroo wonders whether it is just nervous fidgeting in response to his question.

Then, Hinata is raising his hand with a look of pure mortification.

“I-I do,” he says shamefully.

“Nothing to be ashamed of!” Kuroo cries, “You’ll easily have a chance, being a star volleyball player. They’d be lining up for you...or you can just sell it.”

Tsukishima lets out a stunted snort.

“How much do you think it’s worth? Couple Yens?”

“The hell did you say?” Hinata snaps.

He leans forward and glares furiously at Tsukishima.

“Alright, alright is there anyone else other than Hinata? Don’t worry, we won’t be spilling the beans,” Kuroo assures.

For a brief moment, the group is suspended in a tense stillness. Perhaps the repercussions of Hinata’s disclosure is far too harrowing?

Eventually, Yamaguchi timidly raises his hand. Hinata explicitly welcomes the gesture, but is suddenly looking perturb when no one else is raising their hand.

“Kageyama! Since when did you lose your V card?” He demands.

The comment sends a wave of irritation across Kageyama’s vicinity.

“None of your business,” he says brusquely.

“Hold on, let’s not force anyone to reveal information here if they don’t want to,” Kuroo intervenes, “but I’m sure all of us would appreciate some advice, right?”

With the exception of Kageyama and Tsukishima, the group murmurs in agreement.

“I’m still not sure what you meant earlier, Kuroo,” Hinata says.

“I’ll get to that, but first, one more question. Everyone here kissed a woman? It's okay if you haven't.”

The group falls into another void of silence. And for some inexplicable reason, the atmosphere this time round is intensely restless.

“As if someone here hasn’t!” Hinata exclaims suddenly.

“And you have?” Kageyama queries.

There is a thick coat of vexation that pervades his tone, yet he is looking unusually detached from Hinata.

“None of your business," Hinata gives a petulant albeit accurate imitation of Kageyama’s earlier refutal, “with your stupidity, I won’t be surprised if you haven’t kissed a girl before,” he adds condescendingly.

Kageyama turns away, then speaks without looking at the group.

“I don’t care. It’s not like I have any interest in women and their boring lives.”

It may be fleeting, but there is a solemn emphasis on the latter sentence. When Kuroo glances around the room, Tsukishima appears to be the only one who is gazing skeptically in Kageyama’s direction.

Hinata, however, is looking unusually mollified, as if Kageyama’s answer has repudiated any pressing concerns.

“Nothing wrong with that. We all have our own preferences,” Kuroo says, “ So, to answer your question, Hinata, it’s always important to keep a woman satisfied first before yourself.”

Over in the corner, Daichi is crossing his arms and nodding feverishly in agreement.

“But hold on, isn’t it all about give and take?” Yamaguchi asks.

“Correct. But just remember, men are born lucky in that most of us can be easily satisfied within a few minutes of doing it. For women, it takes a lot longer and many don’t achieve gratification with just the act of sex alone,” Kuroo answers.

Yamaguchi and Hinata exchange confounding glances.

“Really? But from what I’ve seen, they seem to really enjoy it,” Hinata says.

“From what you’ve seen? What the hell have you been watching?” Kageyama asks incredulously.

Hinata ignores him.

“I think the biggest mistake a guy can make is replicate their smut videos on a woman,” Daichi says.

“That’s essentially for your own gratification rather than theirs,” Kuroo agrees, "hence why I asked about the V card and the kissing, because you'll eventually find out that it's not all about you."

Hinata nods to indicate his understanding, however, Yamaguchi is still looking visibly puzzled.

“Hmm…some of those smut videos are a bit violent, don’t you think?” Sugawara asks, “I mean, women like being treated gently so they will always appreciate that you are putting in the effort just for them. True enjoyment occurs when both parties are happy.”

“Nailed it, Sugawara,” Kuroo says, “foreplay is your key to a woman's satisfaction, and if you are smart, you can time it so things happen at the same time. If you know what I mean.”

He gives a wink.

“That would mean you have to know your partner really well,” Yamaguchi says.

“Correct,” Daichi answers, “I think that’s the important part, but it's also fun to explore.”

They are momentarily quiet, until Kuroo suddenly speaks again.

“Tsukki, anything you want to add?”

For the past five minutes, Tsukishima is looking unexpectedly lifeless. He may have tuned out of the conversation, but Kuroo gets the instinct that something else is triggering his impassive state.

“No,” he answers shortly.

“Tsukishima, at least give us some advice,” Hinata mutters.

“I don’t have any. And it sounds like you’ve got a decent amount from tonight’s conversation anyway,” he replies irritably.

His tone may be vexatious, but there appears to be a defensive veil that is keeping his emotions restrained.

“He’s probably just shit in bed. Not surprising, considering his putrid attitude,” Kageyama jeers.

“Your Highness, I wouldn’t be lecturing someone on these matters if I had virgin experience like you,” Tsukishima answers.

At the retort, Yamaguchi and Kuroo subdue their snickers.

“Tsukishima, at least give us some advice. I mean, Yachi is your first experience right? Just tell us what you’ve learnt so far,” Hinata presses.

The comment evokes a strong response from Tsukishima. He gives Hinata a steely look that hovers somewhere between patronisation and passive indignation.

“I’m not partaking in this conversation,” he answers sharply, “goodnight.”

He stands and disappears out the hallway.

“What the hell was that all about?” Hinata says testily, “it’s not like he had to make such a big deal out of it.”

“I think Tsukki is just a bit sensitive about his personal life,” Yamaguchi says.

Tsukishima’s departure marks the end of their conversation. And one by one, they disperse from the room and out into their respective sleeping quarters.

Kuroo gestures for Sugawara to go first whilst he takes a trip to the kitchen. And by the time he returns with two glasses of water in hand, there is someone already standing outside his bedroom door.


	17. Insecurities

It is the same droning sound. A low vibrating noise that rattles at varying decibels.

She keeps her mind focused and her body stilted. The latter is perhaps an automatic response to the uncertain environment.

In the past hour, Yachi sits alone in the rigid quietude, unfocused yet visibly attentive. Her mind rakes the numerous words before her, each sentence passes through like the tranquil flow of water. But her conscious retains nothing. Textbooks and vacation do not bode, especially when her mind is detached from everything that pertains to college.

_There was no need to bring all these books._

Perhaps they are here to appease the guilt?

Without further consideration, she closes the books and tucks the assignments away. In exchange, she takes her sketchpad and begins the onerous task of finalising a new advertisement.

For the past three years, college and work keeps her busy. She does not envision much else, other than working towards a set of goals that concerns her academic performance and the opportunity for an exclusive job in Tokyo. She achieved them with vigorous intent, and come present day, she is months away from completing said objectives.

But that is how she likes to imagine it - a linear progression of events without hardships.

Yet life's adversities have a way of impeding her idea of perfection. Friendship kept her social life afloat, but relationships drove a rift through her peace. Never did she anticipate the complexities that surrounds a relationship, nor the hurt and trauma that accompanies it. For a large portion of her life, relationship correlated with positivity, love and growth. Her experiences, however, vastly differed, and it left a harrowing scar that will never heal.

When the droning noise escalates and the accompanying knocks transpire, she breaks from her reverie and stares wildly around the room. Her initial thoughts concern Tsukishima's return, but the knocking sound originates from somewhere near the windows. So she crosses the room and stares haphazardly past the glass. Nothing but the gentle fall of snow, or the swaying of branches from nearby trees. She holds the position for several moments, until her watch averts to the window sill and there is a mass of dead flies sprawled across in tandem. Between the window pane and the wooden sill, there is a small smudged handprint that glistens beneath the glow of artificial light.

_Flies? In the middle of winter?_

She spends the next few minutes disposing them down the bathroom sink. And only when she returns to the windows for a round of handprint cleaning does Tsukishima finally return.

"Hey," he says, "what are you cleaning?"

He glances at the dripping sponge in her hand, then to the windows behind.

"Some handprint," she answers.

But when she turns to the sill, it is gone.

"Handprint you say?" Tsukishima says slowly.

He approaches from behind and peers cautiously over her shoulder.

"Or not. I'm probably just seeing things," she sighs, "how was the boys conversation?"

Tsukishima frowns.

"I wouldn't call it a conversation," he replies.

He drops against the armchair and presses a hand to his face.

"Everything okay?"

He nods.

"It's fine. I'm just not engineered to take in too much of their words."

Yachi gives a light laugh.

"You haven't changed the slightest since high school."

He smiles, then glances inquisitively at the stacks of books and papers on her futon.

"You dragged all that here?"

His tone is incredulous with traces of covert humour.

"I still have work to do, so I thought I'd get something done during my spare hours," she replies sheepishly.

She extracts her sketchbook and shows him her drawings.

"For a bank advertisement, that looks pretty flashy," he takes the book and reads with faint interest, "although, you have always been good with the marketing."

"Don't give me too much credit. Besides, it's only a rough sketch and I'm still quite the amateur. I barely have time to cram all that work in with the all these college assessments around the corner."

She gestures airily, then stares awkwardly at the ground.

Without anticipation, Tsukishima approaches and kneels before her. His closeness has that uncanny propensity to evoke apprehension throughout. But it is not in a negative manner, rather, a restless energy that keeps her mind attuned to his presence.

"You've been doing this successfully for a long time, so don't undermine your abilities," he says softly.

Then, he taps the book on her head as if metaphorically breaking through her insecurities.

"You've always been so kind," she says quietly.

He gives her a deepened gaze that denotes a multitude of repressed resentment. Tsukishima may have his own insecurities, but a large part of her is yet to dismantle and unpack the underlying issues behind them. He does not often verbalise it, but his actions speak uncertainties, with a fortifying layer of fear that is impregnable to trust. Try as she may, her attempts to push past these barriers are often futile.

When Yachi takes his hand, there is a swirl of desire that heightens with expansive intensity. She does not anticipate the audacious level of need, nor the assertive action that gets him gazing perplexedly when she hovers close. Her muse dismisses the rising discomfort and the tension that follows. And though Tsukishima is looking wary, there is a small component of resignation that lines his features. Minute as these traces are, Yachi has learnt to read them with scrutinising sharpness. She is good at interpreting his listless emotions, but there is a small window of unknown that often keeps her mind in suspense.

"I don't want you to undermine yourself either," she whispers.

Her tone shakes with disheartenment. She may not fully comprehend his insecurities, but it hurts to see his diminishing self-esteem. Or perhaps it is the lack of trust he has for this relationship?

When he does not speak, Yachi leans in and kisses him. 

His response is stilted, an element of astonishment that does not abate in the proceeding seconds. But she keeps at it, until he softens and reciprocates with nonplus tentativeness. His kisses are light with fragments of hesitation. It can be mistaken for diffidence, but there is a thin veil that demarcates bashfulness and insecurity. He sits within the latter, and though Yachi may have more experience in the sphere of relationships, she is also experiencing a bout of low self-confidence when it comes to Tsukishima.

They keep with the intimacy for quite some time. It is never changing, as if their minds have separated from their bodies and their actions are purely autonomous. But surprisingly, it is Tsukishima who eventually alters the flow. He shuffles her forwards and deepens the kiss between them. And in the midst of their movement, Yachi angles her face and coaxes him to part his mouth. Initially reluctant, he eventually gives in and follows her lead. So she takes his face and slides her tongue into him. His taste is sweet, and comforting, with that hint of alcohol that intermixes with the escalating level of arousal. At the action, he lets out a suppressed groan that resonates deeply from the back of his throat. She feels the vibrating need, and the impending fervour that coats the surface of her body.

The need circulates in a dizzying motion, and when Yachi detaches and begins an exploration of his neck, Tsukishima slides his hand down her blouse and gently caresses her breast. Though she foresees the rising intimacy, her body is still surprised. So when her mouth reconnects with his, her hand reaches beneath his shirt and reposes contently against the muscular planes of his chest.

Audacious as she is with her body, a large part of her mind cannot elucidate the meaning behind it. She is normally subservient to acts of intimacy, hesitant even to involve herself with such levels of assertiveness. But there is something that is propelling her forwards. An invisible key that seeks to remove the submissive filter and send her into a chaotic world where she does not recognise herself.

"Is this okay?"

Yachi's question is in response to Tsukishima's sudden rigidness.

He nods, then relaxes his body.

"It's fine," he replies quietly, "I..."

He pauses, then averts to the ground.

"I...I like it...when you touch me."

Yachi softens.

"Come here with me," she says lightly.

In one swift movement, she pushes him against the futon and sits astride him. Ever so avidly, she leans in and unbuttons his shirt, then repeats the action on her end. For a brief moment, she watches his wild expression beneath the soften illumination of an artificial glow. Her undergarment keeps her modest, but that does not detract his gaze from the intricate outline of her breasts. Even when his hand is pressed against the fabric, she still revels in that sensual feeling when the delicate material is sliding between her hardened nipple and his fingers.

Demure as she is with the situation, her body does not allow for further contemplation. It automatically inclines forward and presses itself against the firm surface of his torso. This is the first time she has seen him up close without material barriers. Tsukishima is incredibly beautiful, and remarkably well built, yet she is certain his lack of self-esteem has heavily impinged his ability to appreciate his own beauty.

In response to her action, he leans up and kisses her with vicious ardency. Yachi reciprocates with equal vehemence, until their mouths are swollen with desire and their lungs are grappling for oxygen.

Her level of self-control diminishes with every passing second. Logic disappears beneath a multitude of passionate emotions, and for reasons beyond her comprehension, she is unable to pacify the increasing level of desire. Perhaps it is Tsukishima's propinquity? His closeness exudes a mystifying sensation that is akin to restive need. She can feel his warmth, his erratic breathing, and the hardness that is pressing dangerously against her centre. When her hands are sliding against the muscular planes of his arms, she imagines their hold on her, and the way they would keep her against him as their bodies combine - internally and externally.

The situation may be heated, but there is a fascinating thing called insecurities. It can penetrate through barriers thought to hold the most loving of relationships, or erect an iron-clad wall that is invulnerable to hope.

Tsukishima suddenly breaks the intimacy and is staring cautiously at a confounded Yachi.

"Is everything okay?" she flummoxes.

He is momentarily quiet.

"I...I don't want you to force yourself to do this if this is not something you want."

At the comment, Yachi keeps the rising apprehension suppressed.

"I'm not forcing myself. I really don't understand what you are trying to say."

There is a discomforting edge to her tone, as if she is holding back a myriad of distressing emotions.

"I feel you may be pushing yourself too much."

He does not look at her as he speaks.

"If this isn't what you want you can just say so."

Her tone indicates covert anger, but Tsukishima's astuteness reads past this. She withdraws from him, then shifts to the opposite end of the room.

"Hitoka-"

"I'm going to take a shower and get ready for bed."

She does not wish to blame Tsukishima for his insecurities, but there are components of esteem that intertwines heavily with trust. It is what keeps their relationship afloat, yet the further they delve into its complexity, the more it is apparent that trust may not be the only element.

Even with immense willpower, she struggles with the tears and the frustration that encroaches her insides. And for the very first time, she wishes Tsukishima would just disappear.


	18. Void

He does not remember when the feelings transpired. It may have been as far back as their high school days - third year to be exact, when he and Yachi developed an unconventional bond. But those feelings may have been unintentionally suppressed. Third year had its commitments, and together with the demands of volleyball, Tsukishima never once pursued those imperceptible feelings. He is yet to determine the legitimacy of said emotions. His mind does not explicitly recall them during his final year of high school, but he remembers a set of sensations that often lingered between apprehension and contentment in her presence.

Over the years, Yachi forged a surprising connection with both he and Yamaguchi. She has always been that one reliable friend who cared more about those around her than herself. He found comfort in her, and revelled in that sweet demeanour that should have lasted a lifetime. But it never did.

Fast forward to present day and he is sitting alone in a pool of uncertainties. He hears Yachi in the bathroom, and the gush of water that spills spasmodically from the shower head. There is an odd clacking sound somewhere to his right.

_Clack, clack, clack._

He does not heed, and when he reaches forward and switches the lights, the room is suddenly swathed in a mass of overgrown shadows.

For quite some time, he sits there and stares blankly at nothing. His feelings have numbed itself from the present, and when his muse conjures an image of Yachi’s grief-stricken face, he automatically flinches in fear. He does not like to disappoint her, but his insecurities have infiltrated and pervaded every corner of his being. Considering Yachi’s past, he has no rights to utilise his insecurities as an excuse. The guilt sits deep - perhaps beneath a thickened layer of vulnerabilities he cannot dismantle.

Yet his mind and body operates independently of each other. He will not refute the growing frustration and the disapproval of his actions when Yachi is involved. But the further they drift, the more his body rebels. And tonight is no different.

Behind the frosted panes of the bathroom door, Yachi’s shadow is conspicuous in its naked form. The darkened surroundings of the bedroom projects an incredible display of her mysterious silhouette, and for the very first time, Tsukishima sits frozen in a sphere of terror.

For a brief moment, his judicious mind overtakes in a spur of logical sequences that pertains specifically to an exit plan. But his emotions permeate like a savage wildfire. It pins his back to the wall and coerces his body to the ground.

The seconds move and the world revolves, but his body watches on in escalating excitement. Yachi is now beneath the streaming shower, and just like a shadowy reflection, he can see every drop of water that slides so perfectly down her body.

One month into their relationship and he has yet to see her without any material barrier. But he has felt her, on so many occasions, and on the occasions that could have progressed into something more, it was always his insecurities or her past trauma that interfered.

And though the guilt lingers ever so heavily, Tsukishima cannot detach from what he sees.

Without thinking, as if his body has taken full control, his hand moves to unbutton his pants.

_Don’t do it._

_Hitoka._

_What are you doing?_

_Hitoka…_

_You’re going to taint her._

Physically, his fingers proceed without restraint. It holds onto that incredibly hard length that never fully faded from their earlier intimacy. And against his disproving mind, his hand keeps to that repetitive, rhythmic motion.

Mentally, his conscious has disengaged from reality. He is plunged into that fanciful realm where Yachi is lying beside him, flushed and wet from his touch. He can hear her soft, variable breathing, and smell the sweet aroma of her scent. And when he kisses her and tastes the sweetness of her interior, the surge in external pleasure builds with immense potency.

His breathing is now erratic. It manifests in short inhalation that keeps his jaws clenched and his chest heaving uncomfortably.

_Stop this now._

_Don’t do this to her._

_Hitoka._

_You want her._

_You are selfish._

_You want her so bad._

_You are no better now than what you were._

_You took advantage of her._

_You are repulsive._

_What are you doing?_

_She doesn’t deserve this._

But he cannot stop.

Yachi is now reaching for the soap and running it gently across her body. When he processes what he sees, his mind is unnerved.

The sight is so overwhelming, he can no longer suppress the frustration, nor the intensifying rancour that glazes the surface of his proceeding action.

His release is out of that toxic desire to appease the control his body has over him. And only several seconds after, does the flood of resentment impinge.

_You were supposed to keep her safe._

_I was._

_You are disgusting._

_I am._

_She is your object isn’t she?_

_No._

_You were no better than him._

_Yes._

So in the midst of a despairing reality, he buries his head into his knees and drives his mind into a pitched black void.

_What the fuck am I doing?_


End file.
